


Lost and Found

by shiftylinguini, Writcraft



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Beach Sex, Bisexual Louis, Blow Jobs, Boat Sex, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Collaboration, Comeplay, Coming Out, Dancing, Drinking, Falling In Love, Festivals, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, POV Alternating, Post-Hiatus, Semi-Public Sex, Smoking, holiday romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-18 07:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16114115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/pseuds/shiftylinguini, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: In a year when things are coming to an end for Nick, an unexpected chapter begins at the start of a long, hot summer.An accidental romance in Malta. Featuring Annie on the decks, Nick and Louis below deck, a handful of bad nautical puns and weather that's far too hot for trackies.





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> **Author #1:** I can't believe this whole story came about from wondering what might happen if Louis ended up on Nick's fancy yacht in Malta. It only took us thirty thousand words to work it out haha! It's been so much fun working on this with you, thank you for being so fun and talented and such a good friend. We also owe a debt of gratitude to darling S who will remain nameless until after reveals, for all the help with this story throughout.
> 
>  **Author #2:** This story was so much fun to write, and is a testimony to the things that can come out of a conversation about Nick being on a boat, and what if Louis were there (and also Mimosas). My co writer, you were so much fun to write with and bounce ideas off/cry about sweater paws, and this was a wonderful (accidental) 30k to work on!

Nick’s looking forward to a nice, relaxing time in Malta. He’s going to get on the wines, watch Annie DJ and he’s definitely not going to think about how his love life is currently going to shit. The poolside bar already has a buzz about it, the sounds from the festival giving the place a certain restless energy. Nick orders himself a drink and takes a picture of the sky so he can be annoying on Instagram. It’s going to be fun. Friends, sun, sand and―

― _Louis fucking Tomlinson_.

“Hiya,” Louis says. He’s drinking beer straight from the can with a sharp grin on his face, inexplicably wearing tracksuit bottoms in the blazing morning sun. Malta should have a law against bratty popstars barging in on Nick’s holiday. That’s the problem with festivals. You never know who’s going to show up. One minute you’re minding your own business at Coachella, the next you’re wearing somebody else’s flower crown, chatting to a Kardashian and trying not to mention Pepsi. Nick takes a sip of his cocktail to calm himself. He doesn’t miss the way Louis giving his glass a judgy side-eye it as if he’s thinking _shit drink, mate_. Nick can drink pina coladas if he likes. Louis Tomlinson can fuck off.

“Bet you’re surprised to see me.” Louis grins even wider. He’s caught a bit of sun, on the bridge of his nose and cheeks. Nick refuses to think it looks nice. “Probably thinking I should fuck off.”

“Obviously not,” Nick says, a little primly. He doesn’t like the pointed look Louis gives him as if he knows Nick’s lying, which he is, but that’s just a minor detail. Nick has another sip of his drink and gives Louis the once over. It’s not that he has any interest in seeing Louis Tomlinson shirtless, it’s just that it’s a cardinal sin to cover up when there’s so much glorious sunshine. He feels he should point that out. “Nice tracksuit.”

Louis doesn’t look like he appreciates Nick passing judgment on his outfit.

“Yeah, well.” Louis sniffs, then waves at Nick with his beer can. “We can’t all swan about in Topman For the Beach, or whatever this number is.” He gestures at Nick’s open shirt, beer fizzing over the top of the can and onto Nick’s chest. It’s cold, and gross, and very annoying. At least Nick thinks it is. He’s sure he should find Louis spilling beer on him annoying; everything about Louis is annoying, even the nice bits. Nick quickly squashes that thought down with the metaphorical mental rolling pin he saves for times like these. He’s not thinking about Louis's nice bits. That way lies madness, and a late night wanking session about shapely thighs.

Besides, he’s not even wearing bloody Topman.

“It’s actually YSL, darling.” Nick regrets opening his mouth almost immediately, because Louis looks triumphant as if his mission to get under Nick’s skin has been a roaring success. Nick waits for Louis to call him a posh twat, but mercifully Louis just takes another swig of his beer and shrugs like he couldn’t give a flying fuck about Nick’s sartorial choices. Nick resists following with _it’s called fashion, dear - look it up_ and focuses gloomily on the dregs of his cocktail. The combination of the sun and being harassed by a popstar is starting to make him sweat. He needs another drink.

“I’m off on a boat later,” Nick says, for want of something better. 

Louis snorts. “That a euphemism, mate? _‘Ohhh, I’m off on a boat’,_ ” he mocks, in a high-pitched and impressively bad impersonation of Nick. His face scrunches up, like someone’s just stuck half a lemon up his nose, and Nick tries not to laugh. It’s hard; Louis's got a good posh lemon face on him. And Nick might be drunk.

“Leave it out.” Nick pokes at a piece of pineapple in the bottom of his glass. He’s not sure why he mentioned the boat to Louis. His big gob and a couple of shots of rum have betrayed him.

“Fancy,” Louis replies, with an air of judgment.

“As if you haven’t been on a million yachts before.” Nick rolls his eyes. He’s seen the pictures. He laughed himself silly at the ones of Louis in a beanie and swimming trunks, shoving the _Louis is quite fit, actually_ thoughts into that box in his brain that should never be opened, ever. Who the fuck wears a woolly hat to sunbathe? Nick’s tempted to point out that Louis has been on far bigger yachts than Nick, but it feels too much like comparing dick sizes and coming up wanting, so he doesn’t. The last thing Louis needs is more ammunition.

“I might have known you’d be the sort to spend your holiday surrounded by a load of seamen,” Louis says. He obviously finds himself hilarious because he laughs and takes his phone out, grinning to himself as he taps away. Nick hopes he’s not putting that on Twitter.

“Not really your scene then?” Nick says, idly pulling his phone out and thumbing Twitter open as casually as he can. From the corner of his eye he can see Louis smirking.

“What, the boat, or the seamen?”

“Either.” Nick’s Twitter feed is boring, and definitely devoid of dodgy jokes from Louis, which is...vaguely disappointing, he finds. He scrolls distractedly for another second or two, and then pockets his phone.

“Hmm.” Louis sucks on the inside of his cheek, looking thoughtful. “Think I’m quite fond of them both, really.”

Nick nearly chokes on the last of his pina colada. That’s new. He’s certain Sinead would have made him talk about it on the radio if it was public. He’d probably be getting shouted at on Twitter for putting his foot in his mouth, by now.

He narrows his eyes, wondering if Louis’s taking the piss. “Since when?”

“A while.” Louis shrugs, not looking at Nick.

The silence gets uncomfortable and the back of Nick’s neck begins to sweat. “You can come, if you want.” _God_ , why does everything suddenly sound so filthy? It must be Louis Tomlinson induced sunstroke. The surprising revelation that Louis on his knees might not be such an outlandish fantasy after all has Nick coming over a bit feverish. He’s hot all over in a way that has nothing to do with the sun. He rubs the beads of perspiration from the back of his neck, hoping he’s not getting red. “You can come on the boat,” he adds, to clarify that he's not thinking about Louis coming anywhere else, even if that's basically all he's thinking about.

“Generous of you, Nicholas.” Louis drains the rest of his beer, flicking his tongue over his lips. “What time?”

“Excuse me?” Nick’s too busy looking at Louis's lips to process the question.

Louis huffs impatiently. “What time should I come on this boat of yours?”

“Um.” Nick cannot for the life of him think of a sensible response to that. Louis needs to stop saying come. Nick needs to stop _thinking_ about come. He looks away, clearing his throat and staring down into his empty glass. There's a smear of Pina Colada on the rim, thick and white, and Jesus Christ what kind of sunstroke _is_ this?

“Look, Grimshaw, if you don’t actually want me to―” Louis starts impatiently, shoulders tensing and cheeks flushing. He looks vaguely embarrassed, like he’s overstepped, which is not right; Nick’s the one having an internal perv crisis over perfectly normal usages of perfectly normal (filthy) words.

“Now,” Nick blurts, dredging his voice up from the skeevy depths it momentarily slunk off to. “The boat is, like, coming now. We’re coming on it. Going on it, I mean.” 

Louis narrows his eyes at Nick. “If there’s not enough room for someone else, I’m not after a pity inv―”

“You’ll need shorts or summat,” Nick interrupts. The suggestion brings his eyes down to Louis’s crotch and he quickly looks up again because staring at Louis's knob is not the best way to get his mind out of the gutter. “For swimming.”

“Under my trackies, mate.” Louis tugs the waistband away from his stomach and lets it fall back against his skin with a _snap_. Nick tries not to stare. Again. “There better be beer.”

Nick doesn’t know what the fuck there is on the boat apart from a former member of One Direction, apparently. “Bound to be.”

Louis gives Nick a look that in the sweltering heat of the sun can best be described as bloody filthy. “Looking forward to coming on this boat of yours.”

Nick gulps, adjusts himself in his swimming trunks and wonders what just happened.

  
_~  
_~ )_)_~  
)_))_))_)  
_!__!__!_  
\\______t/  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


Louis has no idea what he’s doing on this fucking boat.

He likes winding Nick Grimshaw up; he knows this about himself. It’s either his worst or his best quality, but when he sees a button he’s got to push it. There’s nothing more satisfying than knowing he’s got under Nick’s skin. Louis's accepted that’s just what he does when he’s interested in someone. When he was ten, he used to pull Sarah Kerrigan's pigtails in school because he fancied her, and now he pokes fun at Nick Grimshaw’s clothes, and hair, and friends, because he wants his attention, and possibly to have filthy hot, sweaty sex with him. It’s all in good jest, and nothing’s ever going to come of it anyway, so of course when Louis saw Nick standing by the pool, a familiar face in a sea of strangers, he went on autopilot.

Well, mostly autopilot. He usually leaves out the bit about being a fan of seamen in his weird Nick-flirting routine. He’s not invited himself onto a yacht before, either. Louis stares down into his glass of rosé. There’s a bug in it, which is probably the only part Louis's interested in having in his mouth. He’s sweating his dick off in his trackies. He might need to have a chat with himself about impulse control, he thinks, then downs half of his drink in one.

Nick’s chatting to someone Louis doesn’t know very well although the name is familiar. Fran, somebody. He’s his usual ridiculous, expressive self, drinking the rosé like it’s going out of fashion (because he’s got no taste, unlike Louis). He keeps gesturing with his long fingers and flaily arms. Louis reaches for a straw just to be extra obnoxious and uses the safety of his sunglasses to hide the fact he’s studying Nick. Nick has nice hands. Nice hands, a nice face and nice legs. Nice everything, really.

Christ, it’s hot. Pulling a face, Louis decides to lose the trackies. He yanks his t-shirt over his head and strips down to his shorts before settling back into position―an excellent vantage point he selected primarily for perving on Nick. He can’t help but feel pissed about the fact Nick’s basically abandoned him. When he catches Nick looking in his direction he adjusts himself in his trunks and smiles around his straw, all faux innocence. Nick pushes his sunglasses onto his head, watching Louis. He murmurs something to Fran that Louis doesn’t quite catch and they both laugh. Because Louis is paranoid as fuck he wonders if they’re laughing about him. He glares at his stupid wine when Nick makes his way across the boat and makes a particularly annoying slurping sound with his straw. That’ll teach Nick to serve him posh wine instead of a nice, chilled beer.

“Alright?” Nick settles his free hand against the railing of the boat, his oversized wine glass held in the other. It’s half full, and Nick takes a slow drink, sans straw because Nick isn’t a child. He leans his weight against the railing which gives Louis an excellent view of the roughly nine kilometres of his legs. “You need another drink, or like―” Nick stops, eyeing the straw in Louis's glass. He sighs. “Maybe I can get you a juice, something off the kid’s menu?” he finishes wryly.

Louis pointedly ignores the dig and looks down in triumph at the offending plastic in his drink. It’s got blue and white stripes and looks ridiculous dangling half out of Louis's wine. He chases the straw around the lip of the glass with his tongue as obnoxiously as he can, sunnies sliding a little further down his nose. He hopes it looks sexy, like he’s an extra in an extravagant yacht-themed music video and not just like he’s sitting on a deck chair, sweaty and gross. 

“Having fun are we, love?” Nick asks, just as someone changes the music to something Louis doesn’t know. Louis spits his straw out, then smacks his lips. He glances at Nick over the top of his sunglasses. 

“Oh yeah, having a fucking blast over here, love,” he replies facetiously, then belches. He’s uncomfortable, and he’s mildly on the offensive. “Thought you said you had beer,” he gripes.

Nick takes a seat next to Louis, stretching his legs out. He’s got the most ridiculous legs Louis has ever seen in his life. 1912 on one thigh, a rose on the other and knobbly knees dotted with sea spray. The shirt that was slightly unbuttoned when they started out is now open almost completely and Louis tries not to stare at the necklaces resting on Nick’s torso or the chest hair he has the strangest desire to touch.

Nick slides his glasses back onto his face and leans back, his shoulder brushing against Louis's. “No beer after all, not on deck at least. Is the posh wine not good enough for you?”

Louis pulls a face. “Think you got me here under false pretences, mate.”

“Did I?” Nick’s voice is lazy like the heat of the sun and he sounds like he’s smiling. “Seem to remember it was the promise of seamen that swung it.”

Louis doesn’t quite know how to point out there hasn’t been any of that, either. It’s all fine when it’s vaguely filthy jokes and making Nick uncomfortable at a poolside bar in the middle of fuck knows where. It’s different when Nick’s hot body brushes against Louis's and he sounds completely self-assured. Even Louis's toes are sweating and Nick being so close isn’t helping in the slightest. He’s probably great in bed. He’s shagged loads of blokes, half of the aspiring London modelling industry according to Harry. 

Harry has been conveniently far from Louis's mind up until this point, largely because Louis never really expected anything to come of him behaving like a brat around Nick. Harry adores Nick, in that infuriatingly genuine and generous way of his. Louis used to assume Harry and Nick were _Harry and Nick_ , and he sometimes thinks the jury is still out on that one. Louis tries not to dwell because he knows they’re just mates now, whatever they were, once. Louis’s never quite mastered that. He falls hard and fast when he likes someone, even when it’s all still platonic. He wants their attention on him all the time, wants to take up their space and be the biggest thing in whatever room they’re in. He’s proper fucked whenever he fancies anyone.

“Did you bring me here just so you could fall asleep next to me?” Louis glares at Nick, who looks completely unruffled.

“Mmhm.” Nick’s reply is a non-committal hum, a smile playing on his lips.

Louis's mouth is dry so he clears his throat and takes a sip of his wine through his straw. The wind whips his hair in his eyes and he licks his salty lips, stalling. The silence feels too large for the space between them and he tries to come up with something witty to silence the gnawing voices in his head telling Louis he isn’t Nick’s type. He wants to say something clever and devastatingly sexy, so that they can maybe cut through this tension and get closer to doing something about it. What would Harry do? Harry’s good at this shit. It’s a stupid question, Louis realises. If Harry were here, he’d have made friends with everyone, be naked already and probably messily wine-drunk and at risk of falling off the yacht. Louis doesn’t want to do that. He’s not sure if ‘fell in the sea’ is a good precursor to getting a leg over, at least for anyone other than Harry. 

He’s relatively sure getting his leg over might be on the cards with Nick here, if Louis keeps playing his hand right. Like, 50% sure. 60, maybe. He definitely caught Nick looking at the shape of his knob in his shorts before, which probably takes it up to a solid 66%, even. That means there’s only a 34% chance Louis'll have to jump overboard and swim back to shore if Nick freaks out when Louis opens his legs wider and rests his bare thigh against Nick’s. So he does. The odds are good. Nick’s skin feels nice. Louis's always been more of a do-er than a talker at times like these, anyway.

Nick sings off-key to a song playing on another boat somewhere in the distance. Ariana’s new one, maybe. It’s difficult to tell with Nick warbling away next to him. Louis is offended Nick doesn’t seem to have noticed the leg manoeuvre because it took him a fair bit of agonising to get there. He’s got a good mind to―

―Oh. That’s definitely Nick’s hand. Nick’s hand casually resting on his own leg with his fingers not so casually brushing over Louis's skin. It’s almost subtle enough to be an accident. Louis has half a mind to believe it is, before Nick speaks, his voice low enough that nobody else can hear. “Think there might be some beers below deck.”

Louis rolls his eyes. He’s fairly certain there aren’t any beers anywhere on the boat because Nick’s friends are posh dickheads who seem to have an aversion to Stella. He glances at Nick, pushing his sunglasses up on his nose. “That the best you’ve got?” he snarks, proud of how even his voice comes out.

Nick presses his leg against Louis's more firmly this time. Definitely not an accident, then. “Beer...some of that other stuff you were after. I don’t mind staying up here in the sun if you’d rather, pet.”

And fuck. That’s a proposition as clear as Louis's ever heard one, and while part of him is bottling it immediately (this is Nick, _Grimshaw_ , of radio mouthpiece fame, and also owner of a cock _what are you doing Louis mate_??) the rest of him is already up and out of the chair and dancing the samba down the stairs leading below deck. It’s been a while since he’s hooked up with a lad. It’s been a while since he even had a wank thinking about one. The memory of fantasising about soft hair and big hands assaults Louis, leaving him breathless. If he’s honest, more than one of his bloke related wanking fantasies might have involved Nick.

Louis lets his grin turn sharp and wolfish. He knows what that looks like; he’s practiced it enough in front of the mirror, back when the cameras flashing around him were still new and he wanted to be sure he knew everything his face did before the rest of the world got to see it. He knows this is a good look. From the tightening in Nick’s jaw and the slight splay of his fingers against his thigh, Louis's pretty sure Nick agrees. 

“Below deck, huh?” Louis waits a beat, thinking he might as well make Nick sweat a bit longer since he’s got him here, and then he stands, heading for the stairs to his left. He’s pretty sure this is the right way, and he’s also entirely sure that Nick’s staring at his arse as he leaves, so he’s not about to stop and ask for directions and ruin his exit.

A euphoric giddiness takes hold as Louis hears Nick get up to follow him. It’s really happening, then. Louis swallows back the nerves gnawing at him and puts on the bravado that’s like second nature, these days. He tries not to think about the knowing looks from everyone around them and makes his way below deck, not looking back once.

  
_~  
_~ )_)_~  
)_))_))_)  
_!__!__!_  
\\______t/  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


The problem with getting Louis somewhere more private like some kind of deckhand in a bad piece of pirate porn, is that Nick has precisely no idea what to do now they’re there.

He _knows_ , obviously. It’s not his first time being sun-drunk with a fit lad while his friends roll their eyes and call him a tart. It’s not so much the logistics, as the fact it’s Louis Tomlinson off of One Direction and he’s giving Nick a distrustful look that makes his palms sweat. He wonders if Louis really is just here for the beer after all. Nick’s pretty sure there’s no beer.

He roots around in a fridge, finding a bottle of champagne that makes Louis snort, and ten bottles of chilled white wine. Perhaps if he ignores the fact there’s also a massive bleedin’ bed in the room the awkwardness might just...go away. Nick opens another bottle and tops his glass up, offering Louis some. The fact he’s just chucked white wine into his rosé spoils the illusion of _this is fine, it’s all fine, nothing to see here_. Nick mentally rolls his eyes at himself and brazens it out like mixing his wines is the kind of thing he does when he’s on a boat. He can just pretend that’s how the hipsters do it in Hackney. Louis raises his eyebrows and drinks the last of his wine (sensible) before letting Nick top up his drink. 

“So,” Nick starts, running his thumb around the lip of the wine glass. He feels like a pervert, standing next to the bed they’re both trying to ignore and plying Louis with wine. He wonders if he should ask Louis something about music. Something non-cock related like _how’s the album coming along?_ or _spoken to Zayn, recently?_ Nick winces. Maybe not that.

“So,” Louis agrees, when Nick doesn’t say anything else. He watches Nick raise his glass to his lips, something calculating and shrewd in his eyes. The wind’s made a right mess of his hair and Louis’s caught sun on his face, on the tip of his nose. It should look ridiculous, like Nick could take an easy swipe and make a Rudolph joke, but all he can think is that Louis looks stupidly, fucking _fit_. Nick feels a little bit faint. He takes a deep, steadying swig of his wine, trying to decide how he’s going to play this.

“I’m assuming we came down here to fuck,” Louis states bluntly, beating him to it.

Nick chokes. “God.” He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, coughing a laugh. “Just come out and say it, why don’t you?”

Louis looks pleased with himself, as though making Nick spit wine on himself was his intention all along. Knowing him, it possibly was. Nick finds, standing in front of a shirtless, smiling and flushed Louis, that he doesn’t feel even slightly bothered by that.

“Well, didn’t seem like you were going to. And I’m not keen to stand around here drinking this shite.” Louis waggles his wine glass, the contents sloshing precariously inside, before he raises it and drinks it all in one go. The hypocrite, Nick thinks fondly.

“For someone who apparently hates my wine,” Nick takes a step closer, his bare toes curling against the cold, polished wood of the floor, “you don’t seem to have much of a problem shoving it down your gob.”

Louis's smile is all teeth, his shrug full of lazy insolence. Nick can see that he’s still tense, that at least half of this easy confidence is just for show, but he’s loosening up all the same. Louis has to crane his neck back slightly to keep eye contact as Nick takes another step closer, and Nick thinks even the backs of his knees might be sweating. He doesn’t know why it’s turning him on ― that he could fit Louis's head under his chin, that he could probably lift him if he tried ― but it is. It makes Nick’s head swim and his mouth dry. He’ll have to tilt his face down to kiss Louis, and Nick’s never in his life thought about someone _oh wow, he’s shorter than me, isn’t that a turn on_ , but right now he’s pretty close to half hard and they’ve barely even touched.

“‘s’that a problem, Nicholas?” Louis mutters, leaning closer. His lips are almost close enough to touch Nick’s, and Nick can feel his breath ghosting over his chin in uneven puffs. “Me criticising the Chablis?”

Nick huffs a laugh, fingers lax around the stem of his wine glass. He’s probably going to drop it. He probably doesn’t give a stuff. “Ohh, that’s a big word for you, innit Tomlinson?” Nick mumbles, his voice annoyingly breathy. “Swallow a wine book recently?”

“No,” Louis says definitively, which is for the best; Nick’s flirting has gone massively downhill as his proximity to Louis increases. “I know what Chablis is.” Louis takes Nick’s wine, putting it on the table to their left. “I know what Chardonnay is.” Louis puts his glass down beside Nick’s. “I even know what Chianti is, and I am very fucking familiar with rosé. I just happen to think they’re all shit. Now.” Louis leans forward, close enough that their chests touch. His eyes flit cautiously over Nick’s face. “Are you going to fucking kiss me anytime soon, or what?”

Nick does. It’s tentative, almost hesitant; for all that Nick’s pulse is thumping in his skull and his fingers are itching to touch, he feels like he should be taking this slowly. Or at least, that he shouldn’t be grabbing Louis by the hips and shoving him into the wall behind them, which is what his dick is telling him would be a really great idea right about now. Louis, it seems, is not really having that problem.

“Stop pissing about,” he mumbles, frowning as he winds his hands into the open sides of Nick’s shirt and tugs him forward. He deepens the kiss, standing on tiptoe, and Jesus bloody Christ, Nick’s getting off on the weirdest stuff right now.

“I’m being a gentleman,” Nick retorts, teasing. “You know, because I live in a world in which a bit of nice snogging isn’t ‘pissing about’. Are we skipping foreplay too, just going to jump right to ―”

“Fucks sake,” Louis tugs him forward again, kissing him harder and cutting Nick off. Evidently, Louis actually would like to be shoved up against the wall, even if he has to do it himself. Nick laughs, once, into Louis's mouth as he curves his hands over Louis's hips and helps stumble them both backwards.

“You are,” Nick mutters, grinning against Louis's lips, “incredibly bossy, do you know that?” He needs to stop smiling. He can’t kiss and grin, they’re going to shatter their teeth, and while he’s joked about it enough, Nick doesn’t actually want to end up with a face that’s only fit for radio. He’s quite fond of his face, crow’s feet and everything. He starts kissing down Louis's neck to distract himself from going on an internal monologue about skincare.

“Yep,” Louis replies, voice high and distracted. “I’m bossy, you’re annoying. It’s a match made in heaven, now can you just hurry up and ― oh, fuck. _Yes_.” Louis sighs, eyes slipping closed and head thunking against the wall behind him when Nick slots his thigh between Louis's legs. “That’s nice.” Louis gasps, then bites his lip as if he’s surprised by the sound. It doesn’t stop him from grinding down against Nick’s thigh, and then again.

Nick feels light-headed. Louis's skin tastes like old sunscreen, and clean sweat, and boy, and his cock is a heated line against Nick’s leg. They haven’t even made it to the bed. It’s insanely bloody hot, Nick thinks as Louis knocks his head against the wall again when he tries to get the last of Nick’s shirt buttons undone. Nick’s pleased he’s not the only one whose coordination is shot right to pieces.

“Mind your head, love,” Nick laughs again, breathless and low. “As sexy as all this grabbing and yanking is, no one wants a concussed popstar on a yacht.” He sucks gently on Louis's throat, tipping his head back with his fingers under Louis’s chin. “ _Daily Mail_ would have a field day with that one, can imagine the headlines now. Sex Romp Ends In More Than Just Soiled Knickers For ―”

“God,” Louis groans. “Do you _ever_ shut up?” Louis arches his back, rocking his hips and setting up a slow rhythm between them. His voice sounds annoyed, but under that, shaky and even affectionate. Nick’s cock twitches in his shorts. He thinks he might quite like the sound of Louis unravelling. 

“I will if you make me,” Nick says into Louis's neck, kissing up to his jaw. He sucks at Louis's earlobe, gently, and then pulls at it with his teeth. Nick curves one hand around the back of Louis's head ― so he doesn’t _actually_ brain himself, all jokes aside ― and lets his knuckles rest against the wall. Louis brushes over Nick’s chest, tugging slightly over the hair there with a shaky hand ― _interesting_ ― before sliding down to his stomach. Louis doesn’t move away from Nick’s palm as it cradles his head. It’s almost sweet. 

“Oh, fu ―” Nick’s so hard he could scream, and he chokes down a sound when Louis gives up on Nick’s shirt buttons and roughly crams his hand down the front of Nick’s shorts. Nick drops his head to Louis's shoulder, inhales the sunscreen-and-sweat scent of him, as Louis wraps his fingers around his cock. 

“Well that almost shut you up,” Louis pants, breathless and preening as he tugs Nick’s shorts down with one hand and tries to rub himself against Nick at the same time. It’s a bloody disaster, and Nick’s feeling way too worked up already because Louis's fingers are short, strong, and _down his pants_.

Nick’s head swims from the wine he had up on deck, from the brush of Louis's skin against his bare chest and his mouth against Nick’s neck. Louis's lips are dry, from the sun and the wind, and he kisses the join of Nick’s neck messily, stubble scratching against Nick’s skin. Nick’s fingers tighten in Louis's hair as he tries to wriggle Louis's shorts down with the other. 

“You know,” Louis says, in between kissing down Nick’s throat and moving his hand in earnest. “I thought you’d be better at this.”

Nick stops what he’s doing and squawks in outrage. He smacks Louis on his backside with as much coordination as he can muster. “Excuse me, _better_ , I beg your bloody pardon?” 

Louis's eyes crinkle as he grins, his cheeks flushed and his bicep flexing as he keeps pulling ― _oh god_ ― at Nick’s cock. “Yeah, like a bit of finesse, some decent moves.” Louis bites at Nick’s lip, pulls it between his own, teasing. “Getting me naked, that kind of thing. Came down here expecting a real classy shag.”

“Oh, you cheeky fucking ―” 

“Haven’t even got all my kit off, though, have you?” Louis teases. He swipes his thumb over the head of Nick’s cock then kisses wetly over Nick’s chin. “You’re going to be done before I’ve even got my dick out ―”

“Right, that’s it.” Nick grabs Louis by the arse and hauls him up against him. “That’s enough out of you,” he grumbles against Louis's surprised mouth. He starts walking them backwards towards the bed, swearing and then laughing again when he bangs them both against the table and upsets a glass of wine.

“Steady on, Jesus.” Louis is still smirking, but Nick is gratified to notice that he sounds shakier than before. His bum feels amazing under Nick’s hands, and Louis's still walking on his tiptoes so he can reach Nick’s mouth. “You need me to steer, or summat?” Yep, he’s _definitely_ breathless.

“No.” Nick squeezes Louis’s arse, then turns them so Louis’s legs connect with the bed. He glances to the side ― no smashed glass, thank god, just wine everywhere and who cares? Nick doesn’t really need the deposit back that badly. He runs his thumb under the waistband of Louis’s shorts, not missing the way Louis shivers slightly under the touch. He pulls, then lets the elastic snap back against Louis's waist. “You need to get these off.” He runs his thumb along Louis's waistband again, as if there could be any confusion about what he’s referring to.

“Get your own clothes off too, mate.” Louis still has a sharp, snappy edge but he seems quite alright with taking his clothes off, just like Nick asked. He slides his shorts down and kicks them somewhere in a messy pile and then he’s just _there_. Flushed from the chest to his cheeks, naked and giving Nick a mutinous, _I dare you_ sort of look. God, he’s so much mouthier than Nick thought he would be. Not that he thought he’d be demure, that’s laughably far from anything Nick’s ever thought about Louis bloody Tomlinson, but he had expected Louis to be...shyer, for some reason. Inexperienced, at the very least. The teasing confidence threw him at first ― the realisation Louis might know something about what they were doing and how to ask for it. He’d eat his own shoe before he’d say he thought Louis hadn’t had sex before ― if his life’s been anything like Harry’s, he’s been drowning in shags since 2012 ― but Nick’d got the impression there might not have been a lot of blokes in Louis's little black book.

Without Louis pawing at him it’s easier to clear the haze from his mind and Nick sees it. The clench in Louis’s jaw, the way his eyes flash with a hint of uncertainty. The twitch of his fingers into a fist by his side. Nick doesn’t know whether he wants to get his hand on Louis’s dick or just stare at him, taking in every fit line of his body and the way he looks at Nick full of fight and fire. He decides the dick thing is decidedly less creepy and it probably means he’s going to get an orgasm sooner rather than later, so he tumbles Louis back onto the bed and moves over him. Nick’s done this before ― a few times actually. Henry loves to remind Nick of his youthful slagging around. He refuses to be thrown by Louis baiting him, and decides to keep his shorts on for the minute in a last ditch attempt to regain some kind of control.

Nick presses his hips down, giving Louis just enough friction against his cock to make them both groan. He winks at Louis. “Hello, sailor.”

Louis makes an _nnngphh_ sort of sound before he arches up off the bed and Nick moves with it, resting his weight on his palms and keeping just out of Louis’s reach. Louis flops back on the bed, hips twitching restlessly and his expression distinctly unimpressed. 

“You,” he says, “Are fucking terrible. Are you going to get me off or aren’t you? We’re going be in bloody Australia before you get your hand on my dick.”

“Wrong direction, love,” Nick rumbles, letting the backs of his knuckles run down Louis’s sternum. It’s possibly true; Nick has no idea what direction Australia is in, but he also doesn’t care. Louis shivers when Nick’s hand reaches his belly, his eyes glassy and his jaw set, and yeah. Nick could not give a toss about geography. As long as they don’t hit an iceberg, he’s fine. “I’m assuming you’ve done this before, then, yeah?” Nick kisses the corner of Louis’s jaw, then the side of his neck. He’s being facetious, and he knows it, but he likes making Louis react.

Louis snorts derisively in response, or at least he tries to. It ends in what Nick is pretty sure is a moan, his legs falling open just wide enough to bracket Nick’s thighs. Nick lets himself lean down against him, just a tease of friction, of what’s to come. Louis’s mouth drops open, palms open and skidding against the bedsheets.

“‘Course I have, you smug prick,” Louis breathes, then arches his head back, letting Nick kiss down over his throat. “If by ‘this’ you mean a fat load of noth ― _ah_!”

Nick sucks a kiss onto Louis’s collarbone as he wraps his fingers around his cock. “You were saying?”

“Um.” Louis shifts against the bed, a deep flush creeping over his chest and up onto his neck when Nick runs his hand over the length of him. “Think I was saying ― _fuck_.” Louis gasps, presses his lips together to smother the sound. His hips are rolling against the bed now, pushing himself up into Nick’s fist, and Nick kisses down to the centre of his chest, over the smattering of hair there, before sucking his nipple into his mouth. Louis’s hips lift off the bed hard enough to almost knock Nick off him.

“Shit,” Louis breathes, ending on a wobbly laugh. “Sorry.” He brushes his sweaty hair away from his face, then lets his hand fall down to touch Nick’s head. It’s tentative, at first, Louis’s fingers soft as they rest on Nick’s hair, and he wants to say, _you can pull, love, I won’t break_ , but there’s time for that yet. He pulls back just enough to breathe over Louis’s wet skin, then run his tongue over the peaked nub. 

“Fan of that, are we?”

“Nah, totally indifferent, me.” Louis groans, pushing his chest against Nick’s mouth. “Just keep doing it, though.”

“Stay down, then,” Nick mumbles, pulling gently with his teeth and placing his free hand on Louis’s chest. He rests some of his weight on him, just enough to let Louis know it’s there, to test the water.

“Yeah, you can keep doing that, too,” Louis mutters distractedly, cock bumping up against Nick’s belly.

“This?” Nick presses Louis into the bed, surprised by the hot spike of arousal that goes straight to his cock. He’s never been the sort to go in for bondage - who has the time to tie someone up when there are blow jobs on the table? There’s something about the way Louis squirms beneath him though that sends a fierce, possessive pulse of desire through him. He wants to _ruin_ Louis. He wants to do all those things he vaguely contemplated before deciding it was too much like hard work.

“Yeah,” Louis hisses a curse under his breath as Nick moves lower and spreads his hands over Louis’s thighs. Louis responds easily to Nick’s nudging until Nick has him effectively pinned to the bed. “ _Nick_...”

“This?” Nick prompts again, leaning down to suck a kiss into the dip of Louis’s hip. His skin is salty against Nick’s tongue as he moves to the slight curve of Louis’s belly. He can feel it tense under his lips and he digs his fingers in, just a little, against the give of Louis’s thighs.

“Fuck,” Louis groans, and it’s _loud_. Nick’s suddenly aware of where they are, that it’s the middle of the day and there’s an entire deck full of people just above them. The music filters down from above board, and he can feel the thrum of the bass from the speakers as well as the slight ebb and tilt of the boat as it rocks in the water around them. Louis’s breath gets rougher as Nick kisses down his belly to the V of his hips, over those soft and ticklish places that Nick loves on a bloke. Most of Nick’s favourite people are having fun above them, and yet all he wants to do is stay here, with Louis’s hand tight in his hair and his thighs tense under Nick’s palms. Nick wants to kiss Louis every place he can until Louis can’t stay still--on the backs of his knees, the sides of his ribs, down over the shape of his arms to his elbows, until he’s begging. It’s a ridiculous, overwhelming thing, the feeling stirring in Nick’s chest. Nick likes it and want to run away from it in equal parts. Most of all, he just wants to make Louis moan again.

Nick pushes maybe liking this a bit too much out of his mind ― _crisis later, shag first, there’s a good lad, Nicholas_ ― and ducks his head down to let his lips slide over the head of Louis’s cock. Louis moans, a deep broken sound that Nick imagines he can feel even in the quiver of Louis’s thighs, and it grounds him. There are people above and a dodgy song playing ― who let Pixie at the music, honestly ― and Nick’s head’s already going soft over Louis, but this is fine. He knows how to do this.

Louis twists his hand in Nick’s hair (rude) but Nick can’t say he minds because Louis keeps making sounds that go straight to Nick’s cock. He slides off Louis and glances at the door, his voice low and rough. “Quiet, love.” He doesn’t think anyone would come and interrupt - Aimee saw him getting sucked off in Camden years ago and claims it’s scarred her for life - but he can’t be positive if everyone’s getting on the wine and spending too much time in the sun. Besides, there’s something sort of...sexy about it. Something about making Louis bite on his bottom lip and make low grunts and whimpers like he’s trying so hard to be good. Louis is never good. He’s a bloody menace.

“F-fuck.” Louis presses his lips together but nods. He’s delightfully warm and flushed - his skin hot like the summer sun and his body responding to every press and flex of Nick’s fingers on his thighs.

Nick’s chest gets tight at Louis trying hard to keep quiet. It’s like when Stinky got the ball instead of Pig for the first time. An affectionate flush of pride and a sure sign that Nick has a prolonged case of Louis Tomlinson induced sunstroke. He drags himself out of his head (again) and focuses on Louis. The thing about being a terrible slag is Nick has a very good working knowledge of tricks to pull out that are guaranteed to make Louis lose his mind. Nick slides his hands under Louis’s lovely arse just because he can, before getting them back on Louis’s thighs and pinning him down again.

It’s glorious, watching Louis shove his fist against his mouth when Nick takes him into his mouth. Nick isn’t terribly surprised he’s getting off on Louis making sex noises, but it turns out listening to him try _not_ to make them is really quite something. Choked whimpers, bitten-off cries and the odd filthy curse. Nick would be tempted to make a comment about filthy mouths, if his own wasn’t so otherwise occupied. He works over Louis efficiently because as much as he wants to take his time, he doesn’t want Fran bursting in when he’s got Louis’s cock in his mouth. They’ve been down here for ages, and even if Aimee knows better, it’d be just like Nick’s other mates to send down a search party to check if he’s pulled.

He uses his lips, his tongue and just the right amount of force to keep Louis steadily pinned to the bed. It seems to work if Louis yanking at Nick’s hair and getting louder by the minute is anything to go by. _God_ , Nick’s so fucking ready to come. He wonders if Louis would let him do it over his face, his sarky mouth and lovely cheeks. The thought makes Nick groan and the vibrations obviously help take Louis apart. He pushes up into Nick’s throat, and Nick...well, Nick lets him. He takes Louis easily into his throat and ignores the grabby hands in his hair. He’s weirdly interested in swallowing, mainly because his mouth around Louis seems to be driving him mental. When Louis finally comes off the back of a gasp and another lurch into Nick’s mouth, Nick is so close he could practically rub himself off on the nice, freshly laundered sheets that probably weren’t expecting to be used for rushed blow jobs with former members of One Direction.

Nick swipes the back of his hand over his lips and moves to straddle Louis’s chest. He pulls down his shorts just enough to get his cock out and Louis looks dazed, blinking at Nick and surprisingly quiet. His eyes drop to Nick’s cock and it’s very gratifying to see the way his expression flickers with undisguised interest. Louis’s cheeks are red, his hair’s messy and his mouth opens and closes again as if he doesn’t quite have the brain cells left for a witty remark. Nick nudges his fingers under Louis’s chin and strokes himself with his other hand, letting out a low groan of pleasure. Louis leans into Nick’s hand on his face and his skin is hot and a bit sweaty. It should be disgusting but it really isn’t. Nick is pretty sure he hasn’t seen anything so lovely in his life. He brings himself to a fast, furious climax and manages to get Louis’s neck and upper chest. _It is what it is_ , he reads dazedly. He runs his fingers over the letters, damp from his own come. It’s filthy, brilliant, _perfect_.

“You’re disgusting,” Louis says. There’s no heat in it. If anything, he sounds impressed.

“This isn’t even the half of it,” Nick replies, cheerfully. The revelation makes Louis look as though he’s about to start asking questions, so Nick leans down and kisses him to avoid a conversation about why Nick’s a perv. It’s the lazy kind of post-shag kiss that isn’t in a hurry to get anywhere. It’s just nice. Louis has good lips for kissing. Good everything for kissing. Nick is about to comment on the various uses those lips could be put to when the unmistakable clatter of people through the door brings him back to the moment.

“Holy shit.” That’s Pixie, off the back of a screech of horror. She giggles and there’s a clink of glass against glass. “I’m not looking, not looking!” She’s still laughing and Nick hates everything.

Louis rubs his hand over his eyes, the red in his cheeks deepening. Nick hopes Pixie really isn’t looking, the nosy cow. His knob’s hanging out and he has come on his hands. At least his arse is protecting Louis’s modesty. God, Pixie probably thought Nick was riding Louis. Get on a boat, drink some rosé, reverse cowgirl a popstar. Bloody hell, Nick actually wants to die. He’s never going to live this down. It feels like a hundred years before the door closes and the room feels hotter than before, thick with the muggy heat of the day.

“That was embarrassing,” Nick says, a bit faintly.

“Embarrassing for you, maybe. You’re the one with your dick hanging out.” Louis gives said dick a scathing glance, but he looks wild-eyed. “Do we have to go back up?”

“Unless you’ve got another few thousand to keep the boat for the day.” Nick’s not sure why he’s worrying about Louis having enough money in his Halifax. Louis could probably buy the bloody boat. He clears his throat, wanting very much to calm Louis’s obvious panic. “They might take the piss but they wouldn’t, like, spread it.” Nick swallows back the hysterical giggle that threatens to spill from his lips.

“They better not,” Louis mutters. He shoves at Nick and rolls off the bed, pulling on his swimming trunks. His shoulders are tense. Nick grabs his shirt and slips it on, moving behind Louis. He puts a tentative hand on Louis’s back. “It’s just…” Louis breathes, the rise and fall of it shaky beneath Nick’s palm.

 _Just_. Nick knows. Of course he fucking knows. There’s been no press, no articles, nothing at all to indicate Louis is anything other than straight ― beyond the determined mumblings of those who want to slap a label on him, like it’s the end of the world if he’s not properly categorised and stored away. Nick can understand if Louis doesn’t know where to begin doing that for himself. He gets it, and so do his friends.

“It’s okay,” he says, because it really is. He doesn’t give a fuck about holding hands falling out of a Mayfair club with a fit bloke, never has. He just wants to maybe kiss Louis again. “It’s okay.”

Louis faces Nick at last. He uses his t-shirt to wipe Nick’s spunk from his chest. It’s gross and very _Call Me By Your Name_. Nick pulls a face and Louis smiles. The air gets just a little bit lighter.

  
_~  
_~ )_)_~  
)_))_))_)  
_!__!__!_  
\\______t/  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


Louis is even stickier than he was before. Ignoring the looks from a few of Nick’s mates as they make their way back into the sunlight, he chucks his balled up t-shirt on the deck and throws himself into the water head first. That’s one way to get rid of the sweat, spunk and the smell of Nick’s expensive cologne. Although he’s not sure he really wants to get rid of that. Nick is still on the boat, comparing tattoos with Miles and Louis tries not to look sullen as he watches them. Nick’s mouth is broad and expressive, his smile wide as he talks. _I did that,_ Louis thinks. _I made Nick smile like that_. At least he hopes he did.

Louis gets back on the boat and finds a quiet spot, shoving his sunglasses on and pretending not to watch Nick and Miles still caught up in an enthusiastic moment of comparing their tattoos, trying not to look as grumpy as he feels. He takes a sip of his stupid fancy champagne and gets out his phone, dicking around on it so he can pretend he’s not paying any attention to Nick.

“You have so many, it’s amazing.” Nick’s voice drifts across the boat and Louis grimaces at the _easy for a few tattoos_ routine. Louis has tattoos. Stupid ones, admittedly. But if Nick wants to fall all over himself for a bit of ink he should see the penguin on Louis’s arse.

“Why are you googling tattoo shops in Valletta?” Pixie asks Louis loudly, plopping down next to him and snatching his phone out of his hands.

“Because.” Louis snatches his phone back, glaring at Pixie. She seems nice, but she’s Nick’s. Everyone here is Nick’s and they switch from giving Louis uncertain looks to eyeing him with baffled amusement. He’s never heard Harry’s name mentioned so much in whispered conversations, and he knows they’re all Harry’s friends too but he doesn’t want to think about that now. Not if he doesn’t have to. “Might get a tattoo tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Pixie gets quiet before leaning in, speaking in Louis's ear over the beat of the music from a nearby boat. “Don’t think he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s not like people think he is.”

Louis swallows, watching Nick. Their eyes meet and Nick’s eyes take on a dark, hungry look and his lips twitch into a smile. Despite himself, Louis smiles back. He shoves his phone next to his balled-up t-shirt and tops up his champagne. “I get it.”

“Good.” Pixie seems satisfied and stands, making her way to Nick. She says something to him Louis can’t catch, squeezing her hand around his arm. It gives Louis the same nagging sense of unease from before, as if people are talking about him. He hates it when people do that. Even if he knows it’s not true his mind always makes him believe they’re not saying anything good.

Suddenly restless, Louis drains his champagne and drops his sunglasses onto the towel. He walks to the edge of the plank on the boat and somersaults into the water. The surprisingly cool sea washes away the earlier heat. It helps steady his heart which thumps erratically in his chest. When he surfaces, Nick is about a foot away from him, treading water.

Nick looks uncertain, as if he’s not sure what to do now they’re out there in the open. Honestly, Louis isn’t sure either. The whole Louis liking dick thing is something of a new development, and he’s got no fucking idea what he’s doing. He knows that he’d quite like to finish what he and Nick started. The problem is, Louis has a tendency to cling. He moves fast and falls hard, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready for Nick to see any of that. He dives under the water again and comes up close enough to Nick that they’re practically touching. He doesn’t miss the way Nick’s breath catches and the press of Nick’s fingers against his hips, slick under the water and cold against his skin. It reminds Louis of being held down on the bed and he shivers, despite the heat of the sun. There was something about being pinned in place by Nick’s freakishly large hands. It made everything feel safer, a bit less big, a bit less fucking terrifying. Louis’s done all this before, but never quite so in the open. It’s exhilarating, and makes him feel sick at the same time. Queasiness and fear aside, Louis knows what he wants most of all. He wants to get Nick somewhere quiet so they can do it all again, without worrying about some nosy fucker on a pedalo with an iphone, long-lens pap cameras or Nick’s expensive friends giving them the side-eye.

“Hiya,” Nick says. He looks pleased with himself, obviously noticing Louis’s reaction. His fingers dig deeper into Louis's skin and he gives Louis a questioning look. “This okay?”

Louis shrugs, looking away. “Suppose everyone knows we’re shagging by now.” An unfamiliar embarrassment claws through him. Christ, he hopes people didn’t hear. He hopes people won’t talk. _Would it really be so bad if they did?_ part of him pipes up, the defiant, happy bit stirred up by the feeling of Nick’s thighs against his and the memory of what they’ve done. Louis’s used to ignoring that part of him ― it’s irrational, reckless, to think he can do these kinds of things without any repercussions, the PR fallouts, the need for discretion ― but for the first time in a long while, the fear of being exposed feels stale and old. The sun’s so warm on his face, the water clear and blue. He’s miles from home and he kissed a boy and nothing bad happened. Nothing bad has to happen, either. When he licks his lips they taste salty and they still feel a little raw. He likes it.

Louis closes his eyes, the heat of the sun leaving bright spots behind his eyelids. He turns away from it, blinking at Nick. “How long’s the boat for?”

“Dunno. Just a bit longer, I think.” Nick’s breath flutters against Louis's cheek. “You got any plans for tonight?”

Louis shakes his head. “Just the festival. Out here by myself, mate.” He feels slightly pathetic about that. He’s not quite sure how to admit he decided to grab a flight out to Malta in a moment of recklessness just because _why the fuck not_? He’s got a rucksack in his room with just enough ciggies to last a weekend, all the wrong clothes and a half-finished bottle of Lucozade. It’s the kind of thing Louis does when he’s feeling antsy. Runs off to somewhere loud and boozy where he doesn’t have to think for a while. _Just one more pint or five. Does it even matter anyway?_ Louis’s never been one to be able to ignore it when he gets that tug in his belly, that insistent feeling saying _do something, anything, just keep moving_. He can’t explain why, but ending up on a boat with half a dozen strangers and Nick feels like he’s doing exactly that.

“Come out with us,” Nick says suddenly. He looks embarrassed, but not like he’s about to take the words back, and Louis keeps treading water, something warm building in his belly. “I don’t have my own room, though,” Nick adds quietly, flushing. Louis curls his fingers in the water around him, pretends he’s holding it for a moment before letting it go.

“I do.” Louis tries to make it sound casual, like he couldn’t care less where Nick sleeps or who he gets off with. “If you like. It’s massive.” Louis brushes his wet hair off of his forehead, feels it stick up, salt-tacky and tangled. “Like, I booked a room last minute and it’s all proper posh. Think there’s about four ensuites and a bed the size of, like. Wales, or summat.” Louis talks fast and quiet. His face is hot, not just from the sun. “You should come and see it.”

Nick’s smile is soft, and feels almost private. Louis’s waiting for the popstar jab, for the swipe about how Louis’s been living the fancy L.A. lifestyle for long enough to stop acting like snagging the penthouse suite is a surprise to him, but the truth of it is, it still _does_ catch Louis off guard sometimes. That he can afford all this, that this is his life. It’s never quite real until he’s standing in the hotel room his PA booked him and realising it’s nearly the size of the house he grew up in. Louis thinks, when Nick doesn't say anything and takes Louis’s comments as earnest, that maybe Nick gets that, too. 

Nick’s fingers tighten on Louis's hips and he’s so close, their bodies pressed together under the water. “Yeah,” he says. “ _Yeah_ , I’d like that.”

Louis pulls away before his dick gets interested ― god, he’s so greedy for being touched like this, already wanting it again ― and swims under water. When he surfaces for air, Nick is hauling himself back on the boat and everything is turquoise, yellow and bright.

  
_~  
_~ )_)_~  
)_))_))_)  
_!__!__!_  
\\______t/  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


Dinner is a loud, noisy affair as it always is when Nick gets together with his friends. They have a big table out on a terrace, in a restaurant that’s all understated elegance indoors and rowdy warmth outside. It’s part of the hotel, the location of choice for the DJs playing the festival, which means it’s also discreet. Nick loves it. He orders some swordfish and it comes with the largest capers he’s ever seen. With his new silk Gucci shirt, a light breeze and Louis next to him, the whole affair is very glamorous. It’s usually at this point in the evening that Nick gets a hook-up app profile up and running for one night only or starts thirst following twenty-somethings on Instagram. There’s something about being on holiday and long, hot summer nights that make him fancy a shag. Tonight is different. Not only is he, inexplicably, actually going to have someone to go home with if he doesn’t get stupid and drink too much wine, but he’s barely glanced at his phone all night.

Louis's wearing a too-big vest so his tattoos and his tanned arms are on display. It’s casual, even though it probably cost Louis a fortune. Nick can see it’s got a fold line down the middle of it, as if he bought it new this afternoon after he got back to the shore. Bloody typical, Nick thinks, fighting a wave of fondness. The neckline is high but like he’s pulled at it to try to stretch it low. It’s nice that it’s baggy; Nick remembers the days when you could hardly get a cigarette paper between Louis’s shirts and his stomach, it seemed like. It’d be easy to get a proper feel, under a big baggy vest like that. The thought makes Nick feel slightly pervy and that intensifies when Louis sips his beer straight from the bottle making a distressingly hot amount of eye contact as he does so. Nick gulps his wine and nudges his foot against Louis’s under the table.

“Oi,” Nick says. He presses their thighs together and Louis grins around the bottle. He’s trouble, that one and Nick couldn’t be happier about it. “Stop fellating your beer.”

Louis chokes in the middle of his pornographic drinking routine. He swipes his hand across the back of his mouth and laughs under his breath. “It’s not my fault you’ve got a filthy mind.”

“Actually,” Nick says, pressing their legs together again, “it is.” 

The music from the festival is a loud, restless thrum and the terrace is covered with strings of bare bulbs in different colours. It makes Nick eager to go and dance, eager for the rest of whatever this evening might hold. He’s torn between wanting to have a mad one and soak up the energy of the crowds, and wanting to go somewhere far away from the prying eyes on him and Louis.

“Caper?” Nick offers Louis one off the end of his fork. He’s rewarded with a distinctly unimpressed look.

“Fuck, no.” Louis pushes Nick’s hand away as if it offends him. He nudges the last of his fish to the edge of his plate before shoving it away.

“Pass the wine, Grim.” Fran leans over as Nick passes her the bottle. She’s definitely had a few. “Try not to show anyone your arse this time.” She cackles and Nick does not go the slightest bit red, thank you. It’s just sunburn.

“Oh my god.” Nick rolls his eyes and glances at Louis who looks about as red in the cheeks as Nick probably is. “Pixie should be thanking me. It’s not many people that are lucky enough to see my arse.”

“Only half of the boys trying to make it as dancers in Europe and everyone that’s ever been to a London Fashion Week casting.” Fran seems to find herself hilarious and Louis shoves his chair back with a scrape, muttering about going to the loo.

“Excuse me, are you trying to ruin my life?” Nick says, when he’s sure Louis is out of earshot.

“You’ve got a knack for doing that all on your own.” Aimee gives Nick a shrewd look. “Another member of One Direction?”

“Former member, actually. They’re on hiatus.” He says ‘hiatus’ in Harry’s robotic voice and wipes his suddenly clammy palms on his trousers. “And I told you the Zayn thing is a secret.”

Aimee laughs. “Okaaay.” She draws out the word, because they both know Nick has no more romantic history with Zayn than he does with Beckham or Bieber. 

Aimee does know about Harry, though. She was there to eat ice-cream and watch Bake Off with Nick when Harry went on tour and Nick would mope around the place, cuddling up to Puppy and lamenting his eternal bachelorhood. It’s not that Harry and Nick were ever really a thing, but it’s also not like Harry _wasn’t_ a thing, either. Aimee knows how the aftermath of mad nights barrelling out of Groucho and family Christmas’s up North left a Harry-shaped hole in Nick’s heart that took a long time to heal. 

Aimee drums her nails on the table, making sure no one else can hear. “Be careful, okay?”

“Okay.” Nick doesn’t say _bit late for that_. He takes a drink of his wine and watches as Louis comes back from the loos. “Alright?”

“Fine, mate.” Louis reaches for a beer and sits back in his seat next to Nick. He seems quieter than usual ― not sullen, but more withdrawn than before. Nick takes every opportunity he can find to tease him under his breath when nobody else can hear. He shifts his seat closer to Louis and slings a casual arm over the back of the chair as if to say _hands off_. Nick’s never been the possessive sort, but Louis doesn’t seem to mind; he throws Nick a smile, lips twitching up and his brow creased in a frown, and that’s another quiet victory for Nick. He’s not sure what he’s playing at here, but he wants Louis to be comfortable, to be swiping back at Nick playfully like he always does when he’s in his element. Nick’s more than okay with making a tit of himself if that helps get him back there.

He finishes his meal with his arm still slung behind Louis, feeding himself one handed. He swallows the last of his potato ― _amazing, he should try and cook this_ ― and lets the salty burst of his ginormous capers linger on his tongue. He's just wondering if they sell capers at his local Waitrose ― _who is he kidding he’s never gonna cook this in his wildest dreams_ ― when Louis shifts and puts his hand, warm and firm, on Nick’s thigh.

Nick picks the last caper off his plate and slips it into his mouth, ignoring the disgusted look he gets from Louis. He tries not to be too obvious about how pleased he is when Louis still doesn’t move his hand away. 

“Hiya,” Nick says. He swallows the last of his caper and drops his hand onto Louis’s, giving it a squeeze. 

“Hi.” Louis rolls his eyes, but he turns his palm upwards and twines his fingers with Nick’s. Even if Nick’s a terrible conversationalist and lover of all things caper related, it appears that Louis still wants to hold hands with him. It’s a miracle, honestly.

Aimee gives them a look over the top of her sunglasses, eyebrows arched at Nick. Louis obviously clocks the questioning look because his chin takes on a challenging tilt as his jaw works. Nick wants to kiss him. Nick’s been wanting to kiss Louis all night, if he’s honest. He squeezes Louis’s hand and gives Aimee a small shake of his head. She turns back to her phone, probably already ordering a year’s supply of Ben & Jerry’s for when this all goes tits up.

“You okay?” Nick asks Louis. It’s about this time that the anxiety kicks in. Even though Louis doesn’t seem quiet in a cross sort of way, he’s not the usual loud-mouthed menace he is when he’s gobbing off about Nick’s failings. 

“Fine.” Louis gives Nick a small smile and messes around with his fringe, sliding it to the side in a self-conscious gesture. “Just thinking.”

“Don’t break anything.” Nick grins at Louis, pressing closer just to breathe him in. “I know it’s a lot being here with everyone.”

Nick can’t help but be worried about Louis. About the _it’s just_ and the way his shoulders tensed up on the boat. Louis isn’t supposed to be quiet. He’s supposed to be loud and funny and getting right on Nick’s last nerve. Nick takes comfort in the warm―slightly sweaty―hand in his own and rubs his thumb against Louis’s skin, hoping nobody starts taking the piss.

“Not a patch on meeting the royals, mate.” Louis laughs under his breath and takes another swig of his beer. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m not,” Nick says, even though he is. He slides his hand from Louis’s vice-like grip, slinging his arm across the back of Louis’s chair again. He risks dropping a hand on Louis’s shoulder and gives it a light squeeze, before moving back to his position which could be more easily explained away if there’s someone after a shot for _The Sun_.

“We’re off to the bar.” Miles interrupts them both with a cheer and an _oi, oiii_ , like going to a beach bar to drink cocktails out of goldfish bowls is like watching Man U play Man City. Nick doesn’t get too _oi, oiii_ about the football, unless it involves a moth landing on Ronaldo’s nose or Becks in shorts. “Coming?”

“Up for it?” Nick turns to Louis and holds his breath, really hoping Louis isn’t going to ditch him now.

Louis nods and drains the last of his beer. He doesn’t meet Nick’s eyes. “I need to get my fags. I’ll meet you there if you like.”

Nick doesn’t like. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Louis, it’s just that...he doesn’t trust Louis. The whole, heady weirdness of the surprise shag on a boat and the unexpected company at dinner has already given the night a strange, fleeting sort of quality. Nick doesn’t like to admit he’s terrified of the idea that if he lets Louis off by himself now he’s going to slip through his fingers like sand. He really doesn’t want sandy Louis, not unless he’s rolling in it with Nick on the beach. There’s definitely something up. Louis’s smile is too bright and his laugh sounds forced and off-key. He could buy another pack of cigarettes in a heartbeat, it's not like he’s wanting for cash. 

Nick takes his decision. “Tell you what, why don’t I get your cigs with you then we can head over together. Might need me to get you in to see Annie properly.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but generously doesn’t point out he’s Louis fucking Tomlinson and if anyone’s getting anyone in anywhere it’s going to be Louis helping Nick out. “Didn’t know you were such a VIP, Nicholas.”

Nick’s actually got a VIP pass, thank you very much, Tomlinson, but it would probably be childish to point that out. 

“You haven’t seen my badge,” he says anyway. Nick is not above being a very childish person at times.

Louis stands and stretches, his t-shirt riding up just enough to expose a tantalising flash of tanned skin. 

“Come on, then. Let’s go to my room and get my smokes. I’ll even let you show me your badge if you like.”

Miles looks as if he’s not sure what to say to that and Aimee rolls her eyes. She gives Nick a look. “Honestly.”

“I’ll be there before Annie’s set starts. Promise.” Nick means it, too and Aimee knows it. 

Nick might not be good at some things, but he’s good at friendship. He’s the best at that. He’s out here for Annie and his friends. He can’t just ditch everyone, as much as he might want to. If his usual dating record is anything to go by, his friends will be around a lot longer than Louis. The thought makes him sad, that heavy plonk in his stomach as he thinks of his perpetual bachelor status. It’s good he’s got such great mates, he’d be proper lost without them, but it’d be nice if there was a bloke that stuck around too. Nick’s mouth twists, his nose wrinkling as he grinds his teeth. Barely on the wines for the night, and he’s being a right maudlin old shit. 

Nick smiles, bringing his attention back to Louis. “Okay with that?”

Louis seems flummoxed, but he shrugs in tacit acceptance. “Fine by me, mate.”

Nick’s friends leave in a whirlwind of perfume kisses and none too subtle reminders of how long he has to get his end away before they expect him to get his backside out dancing with the rest of them. It’s quiet, when they go and it dawns on Nick that he’s going to be in a room with a bed and no interruptions with Louis soon. He grabs a couple of beers for good measure, takes a breath and waves Louis in the direction of wherever the fuck.

“Come on, then. Show me this palace of yours.”

  
_~  
_~ )_)_~  
)_))_))_)  
_!__!__!_  
\\______t/  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


The thing is, Louis likes to think of himself as a confident enough bloke. Bit of a lad, friendly enough, comfortable in his own skin and always up for a pint and a round of pool.

It’s kind of a load of bollocks, though.

And it’s not that that he’s an especially self conscious or insecure person, either. He likes attention, likes himself too. He even doesn’t mind the shit bits of his personality; who doesn't like attitude in a popstar, huh? That part of Louis’s not going anywhere. By and large, he’d say he’s got pretty good at managing the perpetual heebie jeebies that come with knowing there are a load of people looking at you, waiting to see what you’ll do next and half hoping you trip and fall on your arse so they can whack it on the front page and let the world have a good laugh at you over their brekky. He’s tripped up a fair few times by now, and always managed to dust his knees off and get on with it.

It’s just that, despite all of that, there are parts of himself he can wear with pride and comfort, like the metaphorical trackies of the soul, and then there are those other bits ― the ones he’s not in the habit of letting people see.

One of those things is definitely his arse while he’s getting off with other blokes. He’s really, really not in the habit of letting virtual strangers see him with a lapful of someone else's dick. He’s barely even in the habit of doing it, for crying out loud. It’s not how he saw his impromptu getaway going, to say the least, and now that the surprise and the reckless fun of it is wearing off somewhat, it’s just...getting to him.

He glances a Nick, standing next to him in the lift and fiddling about on his phone. Louis stuffs the panic down ― one, who is Nick going to tell? Most of the people closest to Louis already know, and two, well. Louis knows he can trust Nick. Knowing that doesn't stop him from giving Nick a surly glare as he scrolls through Twitter, though, only looking away when Nick pockets his phone and folds his arms over his middle with a tight smile. 

He probably owes Nick a whole bevy of drinks for ignoring everyone at dinner, and for being a sullen prick on the way over here too. He doesn’t like the niggling suspicion that’s he’s ended up being a massive downer on Nick’s whole festival holiday vibe. He wants to snap out of it; he hates being moody. He likes being the life of the party, not the final nail in its bloody coffin. He felt fine earlier, in the water, with the sun on his shoulders and warming up his damp hair. Maybe he’s getting a hangover, a proper shit one, from all the snooty wine and sun. That would explain at least partially why he’s turned into a stroppy cunt. Deep down, he knows that’s not it, though.

“Bloody awful music in here, isn't it?” Nick adjusts his shoulders against the mirrored wall of the lift as he leans against it. “Giant cliche, that. Fancy lift, crap music.” He smiles at Louis, open and easy. “I’d be disappointed with anything less, really.” His eyes crinkle and his smile widens, and Louis feels that kick of something in his chest bump up a notch. He sniffs, runs his hand over his mouth and his stubbly cheeks before clearing his throat.

“s’this one,” he says gruffly, and also completely redundantly as the lift comes to a stop on his floor.

Louis stomps out of the lift, towards the obscenely ginormous room he’s rented for the week, and lets Nick get an eyeful of the equally ginormous pigsty Louis’s managed to make of it since arriving. He makes it all of three seconds ― open door, shuffle Nick in, close door again ― before he’s biting at his thumbnail. It’s a terrible habit. He’s going to end up gnawing one of his fingers off sooner or later, but it’s been a fucking weird day, so he’s letting himself off the hook. He makes a beeline for his bedroom, where he dumped his stuff before getting changed and heading out earlier in the day. The room’s a state, but that’s where Louis’s likely to have left his smokes. Coming here instead of heading straight to the gig was a distraction, true, more an excuse to get a bit of a breather than a need to specifically get his hands on his particular brand of fags, but that doesn’t mean Louis’s not still gagging for one. He needs to take the edge off, calm his ridiculous nerves. 

“Wow,” Nick mutters. Louis realises it’s possibly the only thing Nick’s said since they left the lift. He might have been talking as they walked, though, for all that Louis was paying attention. He’s woozy from the afternoon sun and booze drunk, and scattered. He grabs the bag closest to him (he barely even packed properly, just stuffed a massive pile of whatever into a few duffels) and starts tugging stuff out of it. 

“Yeah, big innit?” Louis doesn’t look up from where he’s rummaging in his duffel. He glances over his shoulder when Nick snorts.

“Yeah. Well, I mean.” Nick licks his lips, a funny expression on his face and his head tilted up towards the ceiling. “It _is_ bloody massive in here, true, but this is the first time I’ve been in a hotel suite that came with a complimentary sock on the ceiling fan.” He points upwards, slowly, and Louis follows the line of his fingers. Shit. His face doesn’t turn red, but it’s a fucking near thing.

“Oh,” is Louis’s very sharp response. 

He can't think of anything else to say. That’s definitely his sock on the fan, which thankfully is on low so at least it hasn’t flown off and landed on anyone’s face. He doesn’t remember it ending up there, but he was unpacking in a massive hurry, and then he got changed in an even bigger one. The sheets from the bed are already hanging mostly off, and he’s managed to spill half the toiletries over the bathroom basin while he was having a sniff and a snoop when he arrived. The room is nowhere as bad as Louis’s seen rooms end up once he’s really had a chance to let his general hurricane of self-maintenance set in, but looking at it now from Nick’s eyes, he can see it’s a right old mess. He has no idea why that makes him feel self-conscious (he doesn’t normally give a stuff, and it’s not even that bad in here) but it makes him feel young, and stupid. Overpaid twenty-something popstar who has the room of a messy teenager, and the mood swings of one too. That's probably what Nick’s thinking of him, after all this carry on, and it’s not like Louis can blame him. Not for the first time tonight Louis feels uncomfortable in his own skin. It’s very fucking inconvenient.

He concentrates on digging for his cigarettes, which are (yes, thank fuck) tucked away in a grey jacket that Louis honestly had no reason to bring here; it’s not cold, it’s not going to be cold, why did he pack so _badly_. He doesn’t know why he packed half this shit, or why is Nick just standing there, and not, like, running out the door or calling Louis a wanker. It’s what Louis would do in this situation.

“Yeah well, only the best for me,” Louis snaps, far harsher than is necessary. Nick frowns and Louis feels a crappy sort of satisfaction in that. He shakes the cigarette packet, lets one slip out and then crams it into his mouth as he starts towards the balcony, pushing past Nick. “Shove your complimentary posh chocolate on the pillow, I’m all about the footwear ―”

Louis stops, Nick’s arm catching him around his middle. He looks down at it, then swallows, his stomach tensing for whatever Nick is about to snap back at him. _Grow up, mate_ , or maybe, _you know what, let’s not bother about tonight after all, yeah? I’m not actually in the mood for babysitting_. The pessimist in Louis has been waiting for that to come all night. The self-sabotaging realist in him knows that he’s been trying to make it happen, to get Nick fed up enough that he properly throws in the towel. It doesn’t come, though.

“Can I have one?” Nick says instead. He presses an unexpected kiss to Louis’s neck which makes him shiver and then moves into Louis’s periphery, waving with two fingers at the cigarette hanging from Louis's dry lips. Louis swallows, the surprise of it enough to knock his weird, defensive spike of anger back down. Remorse and not a little bit of embarrassment settle in its place.

“Yeah, ‘course.” Louis looks down at the arm Nick had hooked around him a moment ago, and gestures over his shoulder. “Knock yourself out,” he mumbles. 

“Cheers, love,” Nick says softly. He gives Louis’s shoulder a light squeeze just like he did during the meal, and grabs the packet from the bed.

It takes Louis a few tries of his flimsy Bic lighter, but he finally manages to get his cigarette lit by the time Nick joins him. He passes the lighter silently on to him, takes the pack of smokes off Nick and shoves them in his back pocket. He listens to the click and then the soft sound of Nick inhaling. Distantly, he can hear music from the beach, from the small bars and clubs littered along the way. He thinks he’d like to be back out there, in a restless sort of way, while at the same time he likes the quiet of the balcony, the sounds only slowly filtering through to him.

“I like the sock,” Nick says after a moment, around a mouthful of smoke. He lets his lips twist as he exhales. “Real statement piece, that.” He grins, leaning backwards against the railing on his elbows. Louis kind of wants to bang his head against it.

“God, why’re you being so nice to me?” he grouses instead, the last of his bad mood leaving him. He just feels like a tit now. Like a badly behaved toddler.

“Why, should I not be nice to you?” Nick bumps his elbow against Louis’s hand, an almost playful move. Louis doesn’t want to even consider how glad he is of it, to know he hasn’t completely cocked this up.

“I wouldn't be,” Louis answers honestly. He rubs one eye with his free hand, laughing wryly. “I’ve been a right sour wanker for the past forty-five minutes.” Louis wrinkles his nose at the truth of it.

“Hmm. More like a full hour, I’d say.” Nick taps his cigarette gently, lets the ash fall on the tiled balcony floor. He chuckles at Louis’s indignant expression. “Got a good sulk on you, that’s for sure,” he teases. “That being said, you’ve been, like, _not_ a wanker for far longer than that today, so.” Nick shrugs, still grinning. “Swings and roundabouts.”

Louis laughs, then coughs on his lungful of smoke. “Not fussy then, are you, is that what you’re saying?”

“Nah.” Nick turns until he’s facing out towards the beach, shoulder to shoulder with Louis. Both their hands dangle just over the metal edge, Nick’s cigarette slotted between two fingers, and Louis’s pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “I get the feeling you’re not having a good night,” Nick says after a moment. “Or, you’re not, like. Feeling comfortable,” he adds, hesitant.

“Very fucking perceptive of you,” Louis grumbles, running his thumb over his eyebrow and leaning up onto one hand. His shoulders feel tight, tense, and he pulls them up around his ears then drops them with a sigh. “It’s just a ball ache, is what it is,” he says emphatically, flicking the butt of his cigarette over the balcony railing and pulling another out to immediately take its place.

“What, hanging out with me and my mates?” Nick asks with a frown, handing the cheap, orange eyesore of a lighter back to Louis. Louis shakes his head.

“No. Meant fancying blokes,” Louis says around his cigarette. He flicks the lighter on the first try this time, but he still has to concentrate on keeping his hands steady enough to light the bloody end of the thing.

“Oh,” Nick says, followed by a small noise of understanding. He doesn’t say anything else and for a long moment, they’re silent, except for the faint pulse of the far off clubs, the occasional yell or laugh of the people way below them. The air smells salty like the sea, and like old and new smoke. Distantly, Louis imagines he can still hear the waves, like the echoes in seashells he used to collect when he was small. He can’t hear it, but he likes to imagine all the same.

“It’s like,” Louis goes on, because if he doesn’t keep talking now, he’s never going to, “it’s just not easy, and I know it might be better, or less hard or whatever the fuck, if more people knew. If I told people, if I was just proper out like you or whatever, but I just.” Louis licks his lips, crosses his arm and then rubs his knuckles over his bottom lip. “I just don’t want to have to, and what's the difference going to be, anyway?” he finishes bitterly, plucking a piece of tobacco off his lip and pulling at it in the process. “People will still talk a load of shit no matter what I say, and. I just can’t be arsed with it. With dealing with it, with...” Louis trails off, voice thick as he watches the long line of ash balanced precariously on the end of his cigarette.

It feels like a lie, or an omission of a fair chunk of the truth. It’s not that Louis can’t be bothered with it, but that it scares him shitless, and frustrates him, in equal measure. He’s lost count of how many women he’s slept with, and the only person he’s properly had a relationship with, been in love with, was a girl. He could probably fall in love with a bloke, though, if he’s not done it already and just refused to let himself acknowledge it. He’s slept with a handful, when he’s feeling risky, flirty, just reckless enough to let them know he’s interested ― like he did with Nick earlier when he saw him. It’s never been someone like Nick, though. Never someone he’s likely to see again, sooner or later. It’s always been the kind of mad one-nighter that you know’s going to be over before the sun comes up. He’s okay with doing it. He just doesn’t want to explain it, to have to justify wanting to shag men sometimes or to then have to try and prove he really did properly fancy all the women he’s been with before. He just wants to be able to do it, and not have it be a thing, which he knows is a fucking cop out but there it is. When he thinks too hard about it, his head starts to feel like it’s going to cave in and he ends up being, at best, poor dinner company, and at worst internalising on a fucking balcony in Malta. Louis’s managed both tonight.

Dimly, he’s aware of Nick watching him, letting him talk and taking him in. Louis feels an unexpected surge of gratefulness for that. He’s just dumped half of his emotional baggage out on the floor, unannounced, which even Louis wasn’t anticipating he was about to do. He’s been a right laugh, what with the moodiness and the things he’s been agonising over since he put on his shit, shop-bought t-shirt to try to impress Nick’s fashionable friends. He’s thankful Nick’s just listening. He doesn’t really want advice right now, or some guru bullshit about how he needs to be himself and live his life and ignore everyone else, or whatever. He thinks he just wants a sounding board, a friendly ear. A chat. He doesn’t talk about this shit very often anymore, if he ever did, and there’s something about Nick ― maybe the fact that they’ve known each other for ages, warts and all, or that they’ve already copped off together. What’s Louis got to lose really? It makes him feel like he can say what he likes and have it be fine. If not fine, then at least Louis managed to get the words out for once and Nick listened, heard. He’ll take that.

When Louis glances sideways at Nick, Nick looks away, and Louis’s weirdly grateful for that little crumb of privacy, too. Another quiet moment passes, Louis staring at the precarious, horizontal tower of ash at the end of his now dead smoke, and Nick staring out at the lights over the street below.

Nick’s got one hand resting on his chin, cigarette long finished and stubbed out under his boot. His fingers tap against the metal rail, a beat with no tune or purpose. “I was never really in. I was always just out, me,” Nick continues, his words dulled by the position of his hand on his chin.

Louis lights another cigarette, tells himself three in a row is okay; he’ll lay off for the rest of the night. Probably can’t smoke inside wherever they’re going, anyway. He cups his hand around the tiny flame, almost missing the end of his cigarette. He just doesn’t want to take his eyes off Nick, is the thing. He wants him to keep talking.

“Yeah?” Louis contemplates Nick, waiting for him to answer.

Nick hums, nods. “Yep. Proper obvious and everything, from back when I was like, god, I dunno. Four? In playschool? The womb?” Nick smiles wryly, casting a glance at Louis and then back over the lights once more. “I think other people caught on pretty quick, too. Apart from the press. They had me and Pixie married off for ages.” Nick raises his eyebrows at Louis conspiratorially. Louis smokes quietly, letting one side of his mouth tick up into a smile and letting something warm and private, a shared secret, settle between them. He nods for Nick to go on.

“I remember someone at secondary school. Didn’t really feel the same, though. Fair enough, I was a fucking annoying kid. Really loud and attention seeking, can you believe?”

“No, surely not?” Louis pretends to sound surprised; it helps that his voice has gone wobbly and breathless.

“I know, shock of the century, that.” Nick reaches over, pinches Louis’s cigarette and takes a drag. He offers the smoke back but Louis waves at him to keep it. “Cheers. So there was this one time, school disco, everyone dressed up in their best kit and boys on one side, girls on the other, space in between them big enough to drive a lorry through, weird hormones everywhere. You can picture it, can’t you?” He grins, and Louis rolls his eyes.

“Too well, mate,” Louis mutters, and Nick huffs a small, pleased laugh that makes his shoulder shake. He bumps up against Louis’s arm, and then sighs, gesturing with his free hand as he talks.

“I’m buzzing, excited ‘cause there’s music and even though it’s crap, it’s like being a grown up, sort of, and I got it into my head that we should dance. Like, think I said something like, about how we should get the dancefloor going, would be a right laugh, blah blah. This bloke, he said, well.” Nick splays the fingers of his free hand out, palm up as if he’s catching rain. Louis stares at the bend of his knuckles.

“He said that he wasn’t going to dance because he wasn’t a giant poof, but that I could if I wanted to ‘cause everyone knew I was bent.” Nick smiles wryly but it doesn’t quite land, ending up in more of a grimace. “I remember that it was the worst thing, feeling like he just knew somehow. Like it was a bad thing.” Nick screws his face up as if he’s still trying to recall it all, expression too nonchalant to be really unaffected. “That bit doesn’t really get easier. Whether you’re telling people or not, in or out, whatever. Feeling like it might be a bad thing if they know. Think that part’s always hard.”

Across the street, a car horn goes off, the loud blaring followed by a peel of laughter, a series of whoops. The music’s getting louder, the bass still a faint rumble but almost enough that if Louis tries, he thinks he can feel it in his feet, coming through his fingers held tight on the railing and up into his arms. That must be what he can feel in his chest, under the thud of his heartbeat.

Beside him, Nick’s still tapping his fingers against his lips, to that same slow beat, and their arms close enough to touch. He’s accidentally getting ash on his sleeve, his cigarette almost burnt out and in danger of burning his knuckles, and Louis wants to take it off him before it gets there, to run fingertips over Nick’s skin in its place. He doesn’t; he stands still, Nick’s words settling gently around him, until he leans back against Nick, the solid pressure of Nick’s shoulder against his own.

“Sounds like a cunt,” Louis croaks, rubbing a hand over his cheek. “This disco bloke.” His face feels hot, his eyes prickling. It’s the stupidest thing. He feels like there’s something stuck in his chest, like he ought to try and thump it out, and at the same time like he doesn’t want to be rid of it, either. 

“Yeah.” Nick twists to look at Louis, then smiles. His mouth is still smooshed into his palm, his cheek a little squashed, too. “Think he might’ve been. And all I really wanted to do was bloody have a dance to Aqua,” Nick grumbles, flicking his cigarette butt over the balcony railing in one smooth, petulant motion.

Louis’s silent for a moment before loudly, unexpectedly, and incredibly unattractively, he barks a laugh. “Aqua?” he asks, voice high with surprise.

“Oi, shut up, you.” Nick grins. “Love a bit of Danish pop, bet you did as well.”

“Jesus.” Louis straightens up, leaning away and then back into Nick’s space. “Did you dance? At the crappy disco?”

“Oh yeah.” Nick stands up too, swaying closer to Louis. His voice drops down to a whisper. “Even snogged a girl back near the bike racks at the end. Not really my type.” Nick makes a self-deprecating face as Louis chokes on another laugh. “It was a weird night,” Nick allows, laughing himself now.

“Mmm,” Louis hums in agreement, laughter still bubbling away inside him and trying to burst out. “Y’know, I can’t really tell if you have the best stories, or the worst ones I’ve ever heard.” Louis lets the hand that’s still on the railing creep closer to Nick, almost enough to touch his side.

“Best ones, obviously,” Nick replies, eyes creased into a smile and flitting between Louis’s eyes and his mouth. “Good enough for radio, even.”

“Wanker,” Louis laughs, then bites his lip as he tries to think of something clever to add. He gives up, figures fuck it, and lets his fingertips rest against the fabric of Nick’s shirt, just close enough to feel the warmth of his skin through it.

“You know, I really want to kiss you right now,” Nick mumbles.

Louis can feel the vibrations when Nick speaks. He presses his fingers harder against Nick’s skin. “Why don’t you, then?”

Nick rumbles a laugh. “‘cos we were having a moment, weren’t we? Didn’t want to cheapen it. And,” he bites his lip, then takes a step back, “‘cause I’m meant to be watching Annie, and Pixie’s probably going to have kittens if I don’t hurry up,” he adds ruefully.

“Ah.” Louis steps back too. “Right, yeah. Reckon we’ve been gone for ages.”

“Although…” Nick catches Louis’s wrist and tugs him close again. “Just a kiss, innit?”

Louis surges up to meet Nick, his hands instinctively going into Nick’s hair as their lips meet. Nick groans into Louis’s mouth and pushes him against the balcony, kissing him soundly enough to leave Louis half hard and almost jumping out of his skin with need. He tastes like sweet wine and cigarette smoke and his hands circle Louis’s hips, shifting back to Louis’s bum to keep their bodies pressed together in all the right places. Louis grinds into Nick, hauling him closer and he wants to say fuck it all and just get Nick into his bed. He wants to lose himself in Nick and never come up for air.

After a desperate, frantic moment they break apart and Louis blinks at Nick. “We should…”

“Yeah.” Nick sticks his hands in his pockets, eyes crinkled and fond and his expression slightly dazed. After taking a moment to compose himself, Nick draws a shaky breath. “I have to go and watch some DJs and make a knob of myself on the dance floor. Sure you still fancy coming with?”

Louis thinks of Nick wanting to dance at the school disco and the way he still remembers some twat telling him to go and dance by himself. A fierce ball of defiance settles in Louis’s chest, and gives whoever-he-is a silent _fuck you_. “Mmm. Need a piss, first,” Louis mutters, certain his mouth is doing something weird, he’s trying so hard not to smile. 

“Alright, go have a quick wee, love. Not planning on doing a runner, though, are you? Gonna jump out the loo window, or summat?” Nick grins, his tone light although there’s something underneath suggesting he’d very much mind if Louis did try and Houdini his way out of watching Annie with him. Louis likes that.

“Nah,” Louis taps his knuckles gently against the doorframe, then lets his hand slip down to the handle. “Nah, I’m coming out.” It sounds prophetic, somehow, but in one wild moment, in the balmy summer night, Louis almost doesn’t care if it is.

Louis splashes water on his face after closing the bathroom door behind him and tries to calm his breathing. It’s never going to be _just a kiss_. Not when it’s Louis and Nick and whatever the fuck it is they’re doing. Louis towels his face dry, has a piss and washes his hands. He’s almost tempted to say something about that, but the words feel too big and clumsy for his mouth to get out right. He’s said a lot as it is and even though the thought of dancing makes his stomach churn with nerves, it feels like progress.

He takes another breath opens the door to Nick, putting on his best game face and resisting the urge to shove Nick onto the bed and keep them both hidden away for the rest of the night.

  
_~  
_~ )_)_~  
)_))_))_)  
_!__!__!_  
\\______t/  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


Nick sends Aimee a WhatsApp as they walk to the bar, and the directions come back quickly. He hopes his friends appreciate the fact he’s given up a good shag with a popstar for them. Nick still can’t believe they made it out of Louis’s room without taking a tumble on the enormous bed. He has to adjust himself thinking about it, because if it wasn’t Annie and some of his best friends in the world, Nick would be getting Louis naked and fucking him into the mattress right about now. He pockets his phone after taking a picture of a sign that looks like it’s smiling and Tweeting _hiya_ with a waving hand emoji. “Five minutes.”

“Not far.” Louis takes a swig of the beer he grabbed from the poolside bar. “I reckon a bloke could get up to a lot in five minutes.”

“Speak for yourself,” Nick says, scandalised.

“We could just say we lost our way?” Louis glances at Nick. “Go and have sex on the beach or something. Like one of them cocktails.”

“Too much sand.” It’s tempting, because Louis looks fit as anything and Nick thinks he would be prepared to risk sandy bits if it meant getting his mouth on Louis properly again. “Could try it later.”

Louis studies Nick, his lips curving into a pleased smile. “Yeah. Later.”

Nick’s pretty sure the word _later_ has never felt quite so loaded or so tempting. He nicks Louis’s beer and takes a swig before passing it back. “Even with the sand?”

Louis shrugs. “Sun loungers, mate.”

Nick snorts under his breath, because that sounds fucking terrible. He’s had sex in some inconvenient places but he has a horrible image of him and Louis breaking one of those flimsy white loungers and ending up in a heap of plastic and flailing limbs with their knobs getting covered in sand and One Direction fans taking pictures for Tumblr. He’s definitely going to have to come up with a better plan than that if Louis - the menace - is determined to have some kind of risky public sex.

They reach their destination quickly; a vast, open-air space right on the beach. Nick keeps a steady hand on Louis’s back as they make their way through the throngs of people to find Nick’s friends. Pixie had a time of it in L.A. but she’s defeating every green juice and crystal shopping spree with spiced rum for everyone. Everyone’s off on a mad one and somehow because of it Louis manages to stay inconspicuous. Nick loves his fierce, loyal friends. Even when they’re taking the piss and giving him and Louis some serious side-eye, they crowd around Louis and Nick in a tight, loud circle. Aimee keeps a careful watch when people snap selfies too close for comfort. Pixie keeps Louis in close enough conversation that the papers are more likely to write about her and Louis than bother making a connection between Nick and Louis. The tabloids always jump to the most obvious conclusions.

The other thing about the tight circle is that it keeps Louis and Nick pressed together, and it’s driving Nick to distraction. It’s making him regret even more that he didn’t just take a longer in Louis’s room. Nobody would have noticed if he’d have turned up half an hour later than he did. Louis pushes back against Nick and Nick bites back a groan. More like ten minutes later, if he’s honest.

Emboldened by the booze, Nick brushes his hand against Louis’s hip. A light touch, but one that lets Louis know he’s Nick’s tonight, if he wants to be. “This okay?” Nick glances around to check nobody’s watching.

“Fine.” Louis doesn’t sound so sure and Nick puts some distance between them, which makes Louis glare at him in that stroppy way of his. “ _Fine_ ”, he says again, swaying closer to Nick, and this time he sounds like he means it.

They go to the main festival stage after dancing like idiots to Vogue (Nick), taking videos of Nick dancing to Vogue (Fran and Pixie) and buying a round of Jägerbombs for the group (Miles). Louis hangs back, the furrowed brow from earlier returning.

Nick leans in close, his hand lightly on Louis’s back in a way that looks totally innocuous. “Everything okay?”

“Are we going up behind Annie?” Louis’s fingers pick at the label of his bottle. It’s very distracting. Nick can’t help thinking about those fingers shoved down his shorts, wrapped around Nick as Louis said _I thought you’d be better at this_ , like the mouthy little shit he is and Nick thought he was going to lose his mind. Now his fingers are picking at labels, short nails scratching against wet paper. It’s a fine waste of Louis’s excellent hands, and Nick’s going to need a whole new array of creams to deal with the wrinkles from dealing with his inconvenient, Louis Tomlinson shaped feelings..

Nick shakes himself, realising Louis is still waiting for an answer, which is inconvenient as he’s already forgotten the question. “I, what?”

Louis snorts, the sound at once derisive and comforting; Nick doesn’t know what to do with quiet Louis, or with the idea that he’s accidentally broken him by being too forward. “You’ll be up there with your mates, right?”

That’s where Nick was planning to be. Drink in one hand and the other up in the air, putting an annoying amount of _I’m on my holidays_ pictures of his excellent life on Instagram. More accurately, that’s where Nick was planning to be with Louis. “‘Course,” Nick says.

“Good for you, mate,” Louis says. He’s gone sullen and chippy again. Nick is reminded of the quiet conversation on Louis’s balcony, Pixie barging in on them on the boat, the flicker of panic that crossed Louis’s features, Louis’s tense shoulders and Nick’s promise of discretion. _It’s just..._ , Nick thinks. Just that Louis doesn’t want everyone to know. The issue dawns on Nick slower than it should. It’s Louis. Louis on his friends’ Instagrams, Louis on his Instagram. Louis behind Annie and J Hus, in view of several thousand punters and fuck. Louis still wants to spend the evening with Nick, he just doesn’t want to end up in the papers because of it. Nick gets that. The papers are shit.

“I wasn’t planning to, like, abandon you.” Nick casts a critical eye at the stage. Annie gives him a wave, and he waves back. He bloody loves Annie. “Come with us. I’m not planning to get off with you on stage or put you on the internet or anything. There’s a big group of us, I’m mates with Haz, it’s fine. It won’t be weird.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but he looks more relaxed. “It’s pretty fucking weird. I’m going to have to Tweet about Moylsey, put them off the scent.”

“Oi.” Nick gives Louis a jab in the side that makes him squirm away, laughing. The reminder that he and Louis were once on the opposite ends of a stupid social media spat feels like something that happened a lifetime ago. So much has changed since then. _Everything’s_ changed. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

“Says the man literally touching me,” Louis grouses, but then laughs again. “Fine. Come on, then. Let’s get pissed.”

It turns out to be easier than expected to get Louis up behind Annie without people paying much attention. There’s loads of room and if you’re not right up close to the decks, it’s easy to stay in the shadows. It’s only the people behind the decks - Annie, Clara, Mabel and Diplo - that register Louis’s presence and none of them connect him to Nick specifically. At least not like that. Nick is both relieved and insulted.

Louis goes to the opposite side of the stage to Nick for a smoke and it’s horrifying that Nick misses him almost immediately. _It’s Louis Tomlinson, you enormous twat_ , Nick tells himself, sternly. His inner voice of reason can’t half be a cunt about Nick’s bad choices. 

“Oi oiiiii!” Louis yells something at someone he recognises, all laddy hugs and big smiles and Nick can’t stop watching him. This is a disaster, honestly. Nick’s so utterly gone for Louis and they’ve barely even started. He’s gone for the track that Annie’s playing, gone for summer and salt, gone for the way his lips still taste like unexpected kisses. 

Nick sings loudly and off-key with his arm around Miles, but he watches Louis sucking on his cigarette, the lights flashing across his cheekbones. Louis’s eyebrows are raised as he laughs at something some bloke is saying. As the beat drops, Louis sticks his arm up in the air in his _yes, lad!_ kind of way. Nick sucks in a breath at the slight curve of his bicep outlined against the flash of a light and the dark of his armpit. Everything about Louis is driving Nick mad. The sharp tilt of his smile and the way he keeps glancing at Nick through a haze of cigarette smoke and dry ice. Nick wonders if he’s always going to be reminded of this weird night when he’s somewhere sunny with the beat of the bass reverberating through his feet and Avicii spinning in the background. Nick takes a steadying gulp of his drink as he looks over at Louis again.

“You’re quiet.” Pixie pushes past Miles to get to Nick, handing him a fresh drink. “Watching your boy?” She laughs and Nick rolls his eyes at her.

“Hardly.” He is, though and they both know it. It’s the _your boy_ bit that Nick’s not too sure about.

“We’ll keep an eye out for fans if you want to go over,” Pixie says. She’s good like that, even when she’s probably traumatised by walking in on Nick straddling a former member of One Direction in a state of post-orgasmic bliss.

“Thanks.” Nick gives Pixie a kiss on the cheek and she bats him away, pulling a face. Nobody pays Nick any mind when he makes his way across stage. It’s all eyes on Annie. He pushes past the random saying something like _do you reckon Simon Cowell would listen to my album?_ , pointedly positioning himself right in front of Louis. The bloke seems to get the message and disappears off to bother someone else about the recording contract he’s clearly after.

“Hiya.” Nick is almost embarrassed at how fond he manages to make that one word sound. Next he’ll be telling Louis he missed him (which he did). Nick glances at the phone he’s been clutching in his hand to show off about being at Lost and Found on social media. It’s been precisely forty-five minutes since he went off to his part of the stage and Louis went off to the other. Nick is fucked.

“Evening, mate.” Louis gives Nick a grin, sharp and precise. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Fancy.” Nick checks the bloke from before has moved on and takes what’s left of the fag out from between Louis’ lips. For a moment thinks he could just tip his head down and kiss Louis right here and now. He doesn’t, but it’s very gratifying the way Louis’ lips stay parted after Nick takes the cigarette from between them. He doesn’t miss the way Louis watches as Nick takes a pull and blows the smoke out to the side.

Nick drops the cigarette on the floor and pulls Louis into him, his hand splayed around Louis’s hip. Louis raises his eyebrows and supporting himself with a hand on Nick’s shoulder yells in his ear, “You going to dirty dance on me Nick?”

Nick’s not sure he really knows how to dance without looking like a twat, but he did grind over a massive fan to Pon De Replay once, so he doesn’t exactly have much shame when it comes to twerking, dirty dancing and making a general tit of himself. Still, he knows the idea of dirty dancing with Louis on stage with thousands of people around is a terrible idea.

“Might do. Not that much of a Swayze, though, if I’m honest.” Nick schools his face into something apologetic. Louis snorts.

“No? More of a Jennifer Grey, are you?”

“More of a watermelon, I’d say.”

Louis laughs, and it’s his real one, too. Not that Nick’s going to admit he knows Louis’s proper ‘I find you funny’ bark of a laugh from all the other ones that Louis’s got in his repertoire (featuring: mean, bored, feigned interest, and a combination of all three that he used to bring out in interviews), but he absolutely does.

“Gonna stick me in a corner, then?” Louis’s still grinning, his hair sweaty at the temples.

“Okay, baby.”

Nick means it to be flippant, but it lands as something more. Nick loves flirting, is the thing. He could flirt for England, and there’s just something about flirting with Louis that gets Nick’s blood pumping. His self control gets tends to get a bit wonky and all shot to pieces. Nick kind of loves that feeling.

Nick lets his fingers slide over Louis’s stomach, edging him back into the shadows some more. He’s tipsy, but not _grind against Louis Tomlinson off of One Direction and Doncaster on stage_ sort of tipsy. “I bet you’re easy for some bumping and grinding,” Nick teases. He thumbs at Louis’s belly, enjoying the way his eyes get glazed. He leans close. “Want to get on my knees for you right here, pet.” 

Louis groans, his head landing against the wall with a dull thud as he tips his neck back like he wants Nick to kiss it. The music sweeps above them, the crowds a dull noise in the background. Everything fades away to the beat of another summer classic and the thought of Louis, reckless and unafraid in his arms. 

Louis lets his fingers trail over the front of Nick’s trousers, mercifully completely out of anyone’s eyeline. Nick can’t even be embarrassed about the fact Louis’s fingers find his dick hard, despite the fact they’re not doing much. It’s the effect Louis has on Nick. Unfortunate public erections while Diplo gives them a curious look from across the stage. Nick clears his throat and pulls back, slinging an oh-so-casual arm around Louis’s shoulder in a _lads being lads_ kind of way.

“You cheeky little monster,” Nick yells in Louis’s ear. It’s meant to be sultry but it’s difficult when you have to shout over Skepta.

“You’re the one talking about getting on your knees, _Nicholas_.” Louis claps his hand on Nick’s shoulder, like they’re talking about footie and not sex-related shenanigans. “Wouldn’t want to aggravate that arthritis of yours.”

Nick gets a hand on Louis’s hip, thumbing at a sliver of exposed skin beneath Louis’s vest. One benefit of having stupidly large hands is that he can feel up a popstar without anyone noticing. Nick’s shirt is sticking to his back and he’s so ready to just push Louis back against the wall and grind against him. He bends his head and smells Louis’s hair, salt and sweat and the faintest whiff of pine from the hotel shampoo. It does funny things to Nick’s insides, thinking of Louis showering and putting on something new from the hotel shop before coming out to dinner. Nick’s heart quickens with the thought of _later_.

“You’re such a brat.” Nick keeps his lips moving over Louis’s ear in a way he hopes looks like conversation, not missing the way Louis huffs out a ragged breath as Nick breathes lightly in the shell of his ear. Nick takes the opportunity to slide his hand under Louis’ too big t-shirt as they press together, keeping their expressions unphased as if there’s nothing more happening than a chat about the weather. Louis’s belly is sweat slick and smooth under Nick’s palm. 

“Nick?” Louis’s voice is rough and breathless. Nick wants to go straight back to pinching at Louis’s nipples, wants to push Louis up against the wall. He wants to pull the t-shirt up so it’s under Louis’ arms and then kiss down his spine to the cleft of his arse. Hotel room, Nick thinks, hazily. Save it for the hotel room, not the DJ booth. 

“Hmm?” Nick pulls his hand away, scanning the crowds and to make sure their behaviour hasn’t been clocked as anything unusual.

“Do you ever wish you could just say fuck it all?” Louis sounds turned on and angry all at once. He pushes a hand flat against Nick’s chest, putting a small distance between them as he catches his breath. “Who cares if we do a bit of dirty dancing anyway?”

“Famously not fond of dancing, you One Direction boys,” Nick points out. “I’d be like Miley Cyrus with that foam finger of hers. Dead embarrassing.”

“You would not.” Louis looks up at last, his expression half-smile, half-grimace. “I wish I didn’t care. It’s only Twitter, isn’t it? It’s just people being knobs.”

Nick catches Louis’s wrist, struggling to control his own breathing. The effect Louis has on him is like nothing he’s ever felt before. His chest is tight and he wants to have a word with anyone that ever made Louis feel like it isn’t the easiest thing in the world, to get off with another man while a DJ plays his favourite song.

“Doesn’t matter,” Nick says. “People are shit. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

Louis looks furious. “But I _want_. All of it.”

“Don’t think they’d let me suck you off on stage even if everyone knew,” Nick says. He gives Louis a small smile. “There are laws against that.”

“You’re a dick.” Louis huffs out a laugh, and looks up at Nick. “You’d kiss me though. Wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Nick says, his words more loaded than he means them to be. The truth is he doesn’t do that a lot. He keeps his stuff private for the most part, because PDAs are annoying unless it’s James Corden at the BRIT Awards. Still, something tells him he would break every single rule for Louis Tomlinson. “I probably would.”

They stare at one another, Louis breathing heavily. He looking angry, frustrated and like he’s about to go nuclear on them both. For one heart-stopping minute Nick half expects Louis to push up on his toes and start kissing Nick in a gesture of defiance. Nick puts his fingers lightly on Louis’s chest and shakes his head lightly. Not now. Not with booze running through their veins and the music thrumming beneath them. It’s a dizzying, reckless moment and Nick doesn’t want Louis to do something he might regret because he’s caught up in the sun, summer and whatever they put in the air that night.

“Steady, love,” Nick says. “No rush.”

“No rush,” Louis repeats. He doesn’t sound so sure. 

Nick squeezes Louis’s shoulder, holding his gaze as the beat of the night pulses around them. The shouts from the crowd fade into the background as they watch each other in the one, fleeting moment under a starry sky that makes it feel like there’s nobody else in the world but them.

  
_~  
_~ )_)_~  
)_))_))_)  
_!__!__!_  
\\______t/  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


After Annie’s set Nick said his goodbyes and dragged Louis away from the crowds and the iphones to somewhere more private. They reach a dark part of the beach where there are still a few sunbeds out without any covers. Louis is tempted to grab one because he’s not sure about getting sand on his bits, but then he’s equally unsure about the logistics of shagging on a plastic sunbed which looks uncomfortable as fuck. He decides to sit on the sand, kicking off his shoes and socks and digging his toes into it. It’s still slightly warm from the earlier sun. The noise from the festival is behind them and here on the beach, the conflict and tension leaves Louis. Part of him was torn between wanting Nick to never leave his side and the other part couldn’t help but focus on the rolling feeling in the pit of his belly that made him feel like he was back out on Nick’s boat again, in stormy seas. _Get a grip, Tommo_ , he tells himself. _Don’t be a twat_. He leans into Nick and breathes in his now familiar scent, the warmth of Nick’s body making him relaxed, horny and bold. He gets out a cigarette and offers Nick one.

“Thanks.” Nick sits next to Louis, barefoot. Their shoulders press together and the sound of the sea in the distance is soothing.

“Reminds me of going to the Costa Del Sol when I was a kid.” Louis blows out a thin stream of smoke, watching it curl and wisp.

“Getting off with a bloke and having a fag reminds you of being a kid?” Nick laughs, the sound warm in the balmy night.

Louis shrugs, turning to Nick. “Not the bloke bit. I’ve been smoking since I was fifteen.” He looks out at the darkness of the waves again, breathing in the salty air. “Besides, we’re not getting off. Not yet.” Louis is pretty sure there’s going to be more than rushed blow jobs tonight. If Louis wants it, that is. He doesn’t know what Nick likes but they’ve got a room all night and Louis is wired from the festival and not sleepy in the slightest.

“When did the bloke thing start, then?” Nick’s voice is gentle, like the breeze. It would be so easy to let everything spill out like it did in the hotel room, but Louis isn’t sure quite how he pinpoints the moment and he’s not sure Nick would want to hear it even if he could.

Louis takes a long drag of his cigarette and closes his eyes. “Dunno.” He’s not sure how to say _with Harry_. He doesn’t know how much Nick knows about those early, hazy, mad days where they were always on the cusp of something and just never got there. He’s not even sure Harry knows, but he thinks he might. There were too many moments of trying to hide stiffies after sharing a bed, too many hugs and claps on the back that so nearly turned into more. Most of all, though, he doesn’t want Nick to feel like there’s this shadow over them. Louis has wondered about Nick and Harry more than once, and he doesn’t want them both to be sitting around miles away from America or wherever the fuck Harry is at the moment, thinking about somebody else. If they make it past Malta into the real world there’ll be time enough for The Harry Conversation. “You?”

“Eminem,” Nick says, with certainty. “I had a poster. Think I was about fourteen, maybe.”

“Sick,” Louis says. He envies Nick for getting it like that. Getting it, then being okay with it―even when people were twats and wouldn’t dance at school discos with him. Louis can’t imagine he would have done at fourteen. Run away, probably. Burned something down. Louis isn’t very good at being alright with people thinking he’s different. Never has been. He lights another cigarette after stubbing the first out in the sand. It’s a chain-smoking kind of moment, on a chain-smoking kind of day. He’ll buy some patches tomorrow, eat some veg to balance it out. Or something. 

“Bit weird being in front of all them crowds,” Louis says, smoke trickling out the corner of his mouth. He coughs, roughly clearing his throat. Yeah, definitely less smoking tomorrow. He can dimly hear people farther up the beach, their voices getting further away. Louis shuts his eyes, takes another drag. 

“With me?” Louis can hear Nick shifting next to him and their shoulders bump together.

“Nah. Well, yeah. But that’s not what I meant. It felt like being on stage again.” Louis hasn’t performed live in ages, and every time he performs live his stomach churns with nerves and he goes out with the defiant, cocky attitude of someone with something to prove. It’s different, doing things solo.

“You miss it?” 

“A bit. Sometimes.” Louis shrugs, opens his eyes. He does miss it, and he doesn’t. He liked the security of the band, but it made him feel like shit too, sometimes. He overcompensated by being as loud as possible to make sure he never let anyone forget he was part of it, even when he had less vocals and sometimes got on stage in the foulest mood, ready to annoy the others. “Maybe.”

“Plenty of time to work it out.” Nick brushes his lips against Louis’s neck. “You’re only twelve or summat.”

Louis laughs, batting Nick away as the melancholy moment slides away as quickly as it came. “Fuck off, old man.”

“Not now I’m doing that cryotherapy stuff.” Nick grins at Louis, his smile sharp in the moonlight. “I’m going to look brilliant soon, just you wait.”

 _You already do,_ Louis thinks. His heart swells in his chest and he swallows as he holds Nick’s steady gaze. _You already do_.

“Stop it,” Nick murmurs. His eyes drop to Louis’s lips and up again, the waves crashing around them. 

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like that.” Nick stubs out his cigarette, then brushes his fingers through Louis’s hair, swiping his fringe from his forehead. He smells like smoke, salt and the sea. “You’ll start giving me ideas.”

“Maybe I want to give you ideas.” Louis’s voice lowers and he stubs out his cigarette too, watching Nick put the butts in a crumpled, empty fag packet. “Tidy.”

“Pixie’s been going on about the sea turtles.” Nick shrugs, stuffing the packet back into his pocket. “Where were we?”

“I was giving you ideas.” Louis leans forward, tipping Nick back onto the sand. 

Nick goes surprisingly easily, laughing against Louis’s lips. He tastes sweet and smokey, his lips firm and warm as he slides one of his large hands into Louis’s hair. It’s so easy, kissing Nick in the middle of a quiet beach. For the first time in forever, Louis doesn’t have a care in the world. He loves this bit. The restless, giddy jump of desire in his belly, the newness of kissing someone different in the shadows, with the taste and smell of summer on his skin. Kissing Nick should feel _so_ peculiar, but it doesn’t. The night stretches ahead of them and it doesn’t feel like it’s going to all slip away like sand. At least, Louis hopes it won’t.

“Ever had sex on a beach?” Nick rolls them over, settling over Louis and pushing his hand between them to squeeze Louis’s cock which is already desperately hard. 

“One or twice,” Louis says, proudly. He pulls a face. “Don’t much like getting sand in the crack of my arse. Or on my knob.” He shudders theatrically, and also a bit genuinely. He hated having a sandy knob, but he reckons he’d put up with it for the sake of keeping Nick’s hand where it is right now. Louis pinches his lips together, rolls his hips up just a fraction. It settles his fattening cock nicely into the curve of Nick’s palm. He’s got fucking massive hands, lovely fingers. They feel like they fit around Louis perfectly, even through the soft, worn denim of his jeans. Louis feels like a bloody randy teenager, being this easy for it, getting groped on a beach. It’s brilliant. 

“Want to go back?” Nick squeezes his hand again, his lips moving in an untidy, damp line on Louis’s neck. 

Louis wants to get off with Nick right here by the sea, and if Nick kept his hand moving just right he’s fairly sure he could come like this, in his pants. He bets Nick’s got johnnies and lube sachets stuffed in those skinny jeans of his (Nick seems to be a bit of a slag that way, and Louis bloody _loves_ that) but something holds him back. That something might be common sense; the idea of having this moment in particular interrupted by anyone with a camera phone makes Louis’s palms clammy. Probably a bit of a mood killer, that. He’s already had a Geldof nearly catch an eyeful of his bare arse, that’s quite enough indecent exposure for one day. 

As if on cue the sound of a group of people nearing their quiet spot filters through the air, laughter and shouting catching on the night breeze. 

“Bastards. Coming onto our beach,” Louis mumbles distractedly, craning his head back to try and see how far away they are. He can’t see a thing, just vague silhouettes in the dark, still too far away to be a real worry. He can feel the sand moving under his hair, though, soft and damp and giving way easily under him. He can feel Nick’s mouth as he keeps trailing wet kisses up his neck ― and knows that it’s only a matter of time before Louis goes from half-hard to public indecency on a beach if Nick keeps moving his fingers like that. 

“Let’s go back,” Louis decides quickly. “Might as well make some use of that massive room of mine, yeah?” Louis’s voice hitches as Nick hums and sucks over his Adam’s apple, before pulling back with a loud smack of lips. 

“Might as well,” Nick agrees, easily. His eyes crinkle as he smiles down at Louis. “Not sure I actually fancy sand in my arse.”

“No, doubted even you would fancy that. Don’t want to flash a seagull.”

Nick laughs. “Or another sea urchin incident?” His voice is cheeky, both hands planted near Louis’s shoulders now and digging gently into the sand. The implication that Nick remembers Louis getting stung by a sea urchin back in those mad, early days of the X-Factor makes Louis warm all over. He doesn’t say that, obviously. Instead, he whacks Nick on the side. 

“Oi, that bloody hurt, I’ll have you know.” Louis licks his lips, then makes a face when he gets sand on his tongue. Jesus, but it’s started already; he pushes up onto his elbows, crowding into Nick’s space. “Don’t want any sea urchins near me bits, no. Or for us to end up on the front page of the _Daily Mail_ for shagging on a beach.” 

Louis grins, then kisses Nick quickly, just once and done. It’s not the first time he’s initiated a kiss since they left Annie’s gig, but it feels like it. There’s still a newness to kissing Nick that makes each one feel like the first, bold and unapologetic. Louis suddenly feels like laughing, even though none of this is really that funny and he’s probably not that drunk. He just feels...good. It’s nice. He feels _happy_ around Nick. He’d really like to not overthink it. 

“Yikes, no, definitely not that.” Nick winces. “I don’t want my bum in any tabloid if I can help it.”

“Dunno why.” Louis stands and ogles Nick as he pushes himself up off the sand. “It’s a nice bum.”

“Cheeky.” Nick smiles, pausing as he brushes sand off his jeans and gives Louis’s ample backside a squeeze in retaliation. He leans in and gives Louis another fierce kiss. “Not as good as yours though, darling.”

“Few are, mate,” Louis replies with as straight a face as he can. He’s talking shit, and he loves it. He thinks flirting with Nick might be addictive. Louis fights back the heat rising in his cheeks as he gives Nick a grin. “Bet you’re dying to get your hands on it.”

“Mmhm.” Nick’s eyes are dark, his smile wide. “Am a bit.” He smoothes both hands down Louis’s back, lets them rest there as he nudges his thigh forwards to press against Louis’s softened but still very much interested cock. Louis softly bites the inside of his cheek on a moan, then lets his breath out in a gust against Nick’s neck. Nick makes a sound above him, fingers tightening on the small of his back, and Louis almost feels dizzy from the sudden rush of blood to his cock, filling it out so it presses against the zip of jeans. He lets his forehead drop onto Nick’s shoulder, pushing his hips forward against Nick before he can stop himself. Jesus. He’s far too worked up for this, sun-drunk and drunk-drunk and stupidly turned on by it all. He’s just about ready to ride Nick’s thigh here and now, spectators and all.

Louis takes another breath and then forces himself to step backwards out of Nick’s arms, almost losing his footing in the uneven sand in the process. He pretends to glare when Nick laughs. 

“Shut it, Grimshaw.” He rights himself then tugs Nick’s hand. “And come the fuck on.” Louis’s suddenly desperate to get back to the hotel as quickly as possible, and he’s pretty sure from the way Nick is adjusting himself, that he’s in no better state. Louis feels rather flattered by that, that they’ve both getting worked up like a pair of teenagers from a bit of snogging and a fondle on a beach. 

He hauls Nick across the sand, grinning as he occasionally shouts encouragement or softly derisive comments at Nick about his lack of coordination. He doesn’t bother looking behind him; he knows Nick will be grinning back at him, too.

  
_~  
_~ )_)_~  
)_))_))_)  
_!__!__!_  
\\______t/  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


Considering they came back to get Nick’s hands on Louis’s (excellent) arse, it’s odd that Louis should put on more layers instead of taking his clothes off. The room is freezing. One of the challenges of being a popstar with enough money to stay in the penthouse no doubt. Louis pulls on the hooded jumper he was wearing earlier that day and stuffs his hands into the sleeves of it, dicking around with the air con with a scowl on his face. It makes Nick want to pull him close and never let him go, which is a very un-Nick like thing to want to do. He’s usually all about pushing people away and getting some space just so he can breathe properly again. Something about this just feels different. It’s possible _everything_ about this feels different.

“Want to get room service?” Louis chucks a menu in Nick’s direction as he finally sorts out the air con. “I’m starving.”

“Because you didn’t eat your capers,” Nick points out.

Louis pulls a face. “We could get beer.”

“Beer sounds good.” Nick isn’t sure where to sit or stand, thinking (in a weird fit of deja vu) that it might be slightly obvious to go straight for the bed. In the end, he decides fuck it and sits there anyway, unbuckling his shoes and kicking them off; they’ve already shagged, necked on a beach, even had a heart to heart. He can probably get away with being a bit forward. Unexpectedly, his stomach growls. “Maybe a sandwich?”

Louis grins. “Fucking capers. Have some carbs.”

Nick pats his stomach. “I’m working on my bikini body.”

“Twat.” Louis rolls his eyes and calls room service, ordering what sounds like a lot of booze and food for two people. Nick’s stomach gives another enthusiastic rumble. It’s his holidays, he can just do some extra yoga when he gets back. Something else for Louis to take the piss out of, if Louis sticks around to pass judgment on Nick’s life when they get back to London. Nick’s heart kicks in his chest at the thought of Louis fussing over Pig. She’d like Louis, Nick reckons. She’d probably steal his socks if he left them lying around.

“You like dogs, don’t you?” Nick flicks through pictures on his phone and shows Louis a particularly good one of Pig and Stinky. “My dogs,” he finishes, proudly.

“I know what your dogs look like, Nick.” Louis’s expression indicates he’s embarrassed to admit he might have have been paying attention to anything Nick does, but he looks at the pictures anyway. “I like dogs. Who doesn’t like dogs?”

“An idiot, that’s who.” Nick grins at Louis, taking back his phone and chucking it on the side. It’s still pinging with notifications from Twitter, but they’re probably just asking where Harry is. 

Louis pulls off his trainers and socks, getting on the bed and stretching out. He seems more relaxed than before, a small smile playing on his lips. “I’m brilliant with dogs.”

“Of course you are.” Nick licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. He props himself up on his elbow and looks down at Louis. “You’re going to have to meet them, if you’re so brilliant.”

Louis blinks at Nick, his smile sharpening. “They’ll love me more than you by the time I’m finished.”

“Probably.” Nick grins down at Louis, something solid and happy settling in the pit of his stomach. “You’re only with me for my dogs.”

“Not just that,” Louis says. His voice is slightly rough and he turns on his side, facing Nick. “My dog’s called Clifford.”

“Strong name for a dog.”

“Yeah.” Louis flicks his gaze over Nick’s body. “Can meet him too if you like. Whatever.”

“I’d like.” Nick touches his fingers to Louis’s cheek, which clenches at the gentle contact. “Won’t just be a holiday romance if we’re walking our dogs in London.”

Louis looks defiant. “Won’t be just a holiday romance even if we’re not. I thought those were when it’s just someone you’re never going to see again.”

“Maybe.” Nick studies Louis. “Can be whatever you want it to be, I reckon.”

“I wouldn’t want to deprive Pig of my company, mate.” Louis holds Nick’s gaze. “She probably just gets pieces of kale from you and has to listen to you moaning on about how to get wine out of silk shirts.”

Nick laughs, low in his throat. “She’s traumatised. Bet you’d feed her pizza.”

“I would,” Louis says, proudly, as if he’s already planning to steal Nick’s dog’s heart. “And biscuits. Proper nice ones, none of them shit gravy bones.”

“Lucky Pig,” Nick says.

“Yeah.” Louis breathes out. “Lucky Pig.”

The food when it arrives is delicious. Plates of sandwiches and piping hot chips, with plenty of beer to wash everything down. Nick tucks in until his stomach is full enough to burst and stretches out on the bed with a groan after he and Louis share a cigarette and a glass of warm white wine that Louis barely even whinges about on the balcony.

“I’m stuffed.”

“Me too.” Louis wriggles his toes, giving Nick a sidelong glance. “Too full to mess around a bit?”

Nick shakes his head, his breath leaving him in a _woomph_. “Never too _anything_ to take a tumble with a fit boy, darling.”

“Give over,” Louis mutters. He looks pleased with himself. He reaches into Nick’s pocket and grabs his wallet, which is a sneaky trick if Nick ever saw one. At least if the music business doesn’t work out, Louis has a career in pickpocketing ahead of him. “Do you have stuff?”

“Mmhm.” Nick takes his wallet back before Louis tries to pinch a tenner. “I’m just a poor radio DJ, keep those thieving paws to yourself.”

“I’m looking for lube, you tit.” Louis’s cheeks take on a pleasing flush. “Condoms if you want to fuck me. I don’t know where your knob’s been.”

“Charmed.” Nick rolls his eyes, swallowing thickly and willing himself not to blush. He’s not the blushing type, but Louis Tomlinson has just suggested they fuck and Nick might need a moment. He licks his lips, feels a happy thump in his chest when Louis’s eyes follow them movement of his tongue. He takes the condoms and lube out of his wallet and dumps them on the bed, then (resisting the urge to say ‘ta dah!’), shuffles his wallet out of reach of Louis’s hands. He’s a rascal, that one. 

“I’m very charming, Nicholas.” Louis picks up one of the lube sachets, looking at it before putting it back on the bed. Nick wonders if his Astroglide or whatever the fuck has just been judged.

“ _Very_ charming.” Nick runs his fingers along Louis’s side, catching them at the base of his jumper and slipping his hand beneath it. “That’s how you want to do it, then? Me topping?” 

“Don’t care.” Louis shrugs, clearly avoiding saying something. 

“We don’t have to do that, you know.” Nick tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, watching Louis carefully, drinking in the way his lips part as Nick presses his fingers against Louis’s hot skin. “It’s a lot of effort, innit?”

“Oh, well if you can’t be _bothered_...”

“I didn’t say that.” Nick rolls his eyes, because honestly Louis is such a monster. “I just said I don’t care. In case you didn’t want to.”

“ _Iveonlydoneitonce_ ,” Louis mumbles, quickly enough that Nick almost misses it.

“Sex with another man?” Nick raises an eyebrow at Louis. “Or specifically my dick your arse sex?”

“That.” Louis presses his lips together, cheeks a hectic pink which Nick valiantly doesn’t point out. He’s possibly too busy getting his brain to catch up with Louis’s mouth. “The second one,” Louis adds in a rush. “Don’t go on about it.”

“Not planning to,” Nick replies. He shuffles closer to Louis on the bed. “I like sex but it’s not, like, a big deal to me. I don’t mind being fucked if you prefer things that way.”

“Maybe.” Louis shrugs. “Not sure I know much about that, either.” He glares at Nick. “Don’t start being a twat showing off how much you’ve been putting it about with all of them models and dancers or whoever the fuck.”

“Leave it out.” Nick snorts with laughter despite himself. He’s not quite sure when Louis taking the piss out of him became so endearing. “I’m not about to give you a lesson.”

“Seems like exactly the sort of thing you’d do,” Louis mutters. “Smug tit.”

“Oi!” Nick pokes Louis in the side. “What’s been the usual, then?” Nick asks, tilting his head to shake some hair away from his forehead. “With these blokes of yours.”

“Dunno.” Louis shrugs. “Hand jobs in the loos. The odd blowie.” He covers his hands with the sleeves of his jumper, looking impossibly young. “Shagged a couple of people when I was on tour, but it was always just for an hour or two. Not, like, anything proper. It was fine.” He pulls a face, as if to imply it wasn’t, actually. “Kept thinking I’d end up in the papers. I just stopped doing it after a while. Got a girlfriend, had the kind of sex no one gives a fuck about.”

Nick frowns at Louis. “You’re ashamed of it?”

“No.” Louis breathes out, then looks away. “I don’t know. A bit. Feels weird to want it. Like maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Okay.” Nick can’t help but notice the easy confidence from before has all but disappeared and he wonders if Louis is always like this. Charging in head first, being as arsey and demanding as possible just so he doesn’t have to be up inside his own head for two long. Not for the first time Nick feels that punch of anger at everything and everyone that ever made Louis feel like there was something off about him, like something doesn’t quite fit right. 

“But you do,” Nick starts carefully, then stops, a bit less sure of himself than he was. He really wants to kiss Louis again. He really wants to make him feel good, to not fuck this up. “You do, like, want it?”

“Sometimes.” Louis stares at Nick, a determined look in his eye. “Wanted it on the beach,” he adds in a low voice. 

Nick shifts his weight against the bed, leaning closer. “And now?” 

“Yeah.” Louis’s cheeks are still flushed, his hair a mess from the beach. His bare feet bunch the sheets slightly as he moves closer too. “I want it now too.” 

Louis’s jaw works before he quickly yanks off his jumper, followed by his t-shirt and almost followed by an accidental elbow to Nick’s face too. He undoes his trousers and shoves them off, dropping them with his pants into a messy pile on the floor. He’s tanned, lovely and so bold it almost breaks Nick’s heart in two. “Come on, I’m bored of talking about it.”

Quickly, but still half as fast as Louis, Nick undoes his shirt and drops it on the floor then pulls off his trousers, which is something of a feat. He takes in the restlessness in Louis’s eyes, the firm set of his jaw and the way he looks as though he’s hovering somewhere between hunger and nerves. Nick sighs under his breath and pulls Louis close.

“Come here, you daft little twat. I’m not just going to fuck you.”

“Maybe I want you to,” Louis says defiantly, but moves easily into Nick’s arms anyway. “Don’t start treating me like I’m broken.”

“I’m not.” Nick presses a kiss to Louis’s jaw. “I promise I’m not.” He swallows. “Just might be nice to do it another time. When you meet Pig.”

“You can’t use your lovely dogs to get a shag. That’s terrible.” Louis doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s terrible. He sounds amused. He pushes away from Nick, sitting up and dumping the condoms on the table next to the bed, leaving the sachets of lube on the sheets. He gives Nick a quizzical look. “Yeah?”

Nick isn’t entirely sure what Louis more-cryptic-than-the-Crystal-Maze Tomlinson is trying to say, but he reckons he can hazard a guess and if he’s wrong, well. He’s not going to make any sudden movements with Louis so twitchy and practically jumping out of his skin.

“Whatever you want, pumpkin.” Nick hasn’t called anyone pumpkin before in his life, and makes a mental note not to do so ever again. 

Pleased, Louis pushes Nick back on the bed and gives him a fierce kiss. It’s as though he’s taken a decision and he’s back to being the same, unstoppable force of nature he was on the boat. Nick guesses they’re done with the conversation for now, but he still doesn’t like the thought of Louis forcing himself to do something because he has something to prove. He puts his hands on Louis’s bum and rolls them over, settling over Louis and taking control of the kiss. The strategy seems to work as the tension in Louis’s body relaxes somewhat, his hands no longer curled into fists in Nick’s hair. They just kiss like that for a brilliant length of time, rubbing against one another until Louis’s movements become more urgent.

“Come on, do something will you?”

“Gobby.” Nick reaches for one of the sachets and opens it with his teeth, nudging Louis’s legs open. “I’m just enjoying a snog, settle down.”

“I’m perfectly settled.” The way Louis kicks out his foot when Nick slides a hand over his cock indicates otherwise. “Thought you had moves,” he says, as if it’s not Louis that’s flailing about and putting Nick right off his game.

“I do.” Nick has moves. Lots of them. Very good moves. Very good _shagged a lot of models in my misspent youth_ sort of moves and as he watches Louis eye him with suspicion, he can’t remember a single one of them. He opens another sachet of lube, because he’s a generous soul and it gives him a minute to settle his racing heart. He might need it, he might not, but it’s good to be prepared. “I’ll show you in a minute.”

“Show me now,” Louis demands through gritted teeth. “Come on, come on.”

“So impatient.” Nick tries not to sound too smug about it and fails miserably. He moves down Louis’s body and tastes a patch of skin on his stomach, which is clean, soapy and carries the faint saltiness of sweat from earlier. Nick knows it’s a thing, pheromones or whatever, he’s just not sure he’s been so hyper aware of the smell of someone’s skin before. 

He takes his time tonguing over Louis’s balls and mouthing over Louis’s cock, gripping Louis’s gorgeous bum in his hands as he blows him. He pulls away when Louis starts getting properly into it, which earns him a disgruntled look.

“Why the fuck did you st―”

Nick runs his finger lightly over Louis’s hole which cuts him off in his tracks. He gets it slick with lube as he applies a gentle pressure to it. He gives Louis a look and moves back to his cock as he presses his finger against Louis, a _pad, pad_ as he takes him into his mouth again. Louis’s breath is jagged and sharp and he curses when Nick finally slides a lube-slick finger slowly inside, keeping his other hand on Louis’s stomach to press him against the bed just as he seemed to like on the boat.

It’s a bit weird, being so gloriously, filthily fixated on getting a cheeky finger inside Louis. It’s not something Nick bothers with half the time, and it’s hardly up there on the list of his favourite things to do in bed. He’s usually all about blow jobs, lazy wanking sessions and a good, solid fucking when he has the time, but with this, as with everything else in the last mad few hours, Louis is proving to be an anomaly. He can’t put his finger (ha!) on why, but he's desperately eager for Louis to enjoy this. He wants to make Louis come undone in ways he suspects his club boys and tour fuck buddies haven’t managed yet. He wants to give Louis the kind of intense, hot, pleasure that makes his toes curl and wipes away any shame, for the night, at least. 

“Nick.” Louis’s voice is ragged, gruff and unsteady. “ _Nick_.”

“Yes, love?” Nick moves off Louis’s cock and presses a kiss to the hot, gentle slope of his belly. He adds another finger and curls them back towards himself, sucking at a patch of skin on Louis’s hip. “Okay?” he asks, more tenderly than he means to.

“ _Nngh_ ,” Louis replies, helpfully. He presses into Nick’s hand, his fingers balling up in the sheets which he yanks as he lets out another strangled sound. “ _Fucking he―_

Another push, curl and pull of Nick’s fingers cuts Louis off and he arches off the bed. Nick’s obsessed with how fit Louis looks like this, sweaty and shaken. His hair is plastered to his forehead and his beautiful cock juts against his stomach, almost begging to be sucked and touched. His body writhes on the sheets, his neck extending out as he arches again, his legs parting as he swallows back another cry.

“So fucking lovely, Lou.” Nick licks the inside of Louis’s thigh, sliding his mouth over Louis’s balls as he fingers him. 

“Not...don’t...I’m not _lovely_ , you arse.” Louis’s words skitter off in broken gulps of breath as Nick gives his fingers another shove, working them into Louis until he can’t complain about the quality of Nick’s compliments. Louis _is_ lovely. Bratty, bold, annoyingly, stupidly lovely and Nick’s so, _so_ into him. It’s a right mess. 

“Just take a compliment, you annoying little sod.” Nick’s voice is so incredibly fond it sounds dead romantic, what with the squelch of the extra lube he adds, the grumble of Louis muttering something rude under his breath and the insults which sound more like a declaration of Nick’s undying. “‘m allowed to say you’re fit when I’m fingering you.”

“Fucking _god_ ,” Louis bites out, which Nick is going to take as a compliment, thank you very much. “You’re…” Louis trails off as if he isn’t sure exactly what Nick is, his cheeks hot and pink and his eyes dark with arousal. He’s pretty fucking lovely in lots of ways, really. Feisty, fierce and playing havoc with Nick’s wrist. 

“Gonna make you come,” Nick decides. He thinks he should give Louis a bit of warning about the plans Nick has to catapult himself to the top of Louis’s wanking fantasies. He slides his mouth over Louis again, the slap and slide of his fingers buried inside Louis’s hot, tight body and the slightly awkward _gurgle_ of his saliva-slick mouth working over Louis mercifully dulled by the beautiful noises Louis makes. He grinds into Nick’s hand, tugs at the sheets and bucks up into the back of Nick’s throat which thankfully doesn’t make him gag or start having some kind of asthma attack after all the smoking, dancing and cock sucking he’s been doing today. 

Nick fully expects Louis to come with a shout, the loud, gobby, menace that he is. Instead though he says Nick’s name as he climaxes―sharp and salty―in Nick’s mouth. It’s like he’s been taken by surprise, the full extent of his pleasure leaving his body trembling under Nick’s careful touch. Nick slides his fingers slowly out of Louis as his orgasm dissipates, and pulls off his cock. He’s aching hard himself, but he’s also hyper aware of Louis’s confused expression and the way he reaches out towards Nick.

“Gorgeous, darling,” Nick says, full of compliments tonight. He blames those pina coladas from before. He moves up Louis’s body and pulls him into a sweaty, breathless kiss as the sounds of the clubs outside fade away into nothing.

  
_~  
_~ )_)_~  
)_))_))_)  
_!__!__!_  
\\______t/  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


Louis doesn’t think he ever wants to move again. His entire body is loose and shaky, his fingers trembling as he presses them into Nick’s hot back. He’s had a lot of sex as it’s the kind of thing you do when you’re in a boyband and bored on tour, but he’s never, ever had anything like this. The usual creep of shame that he feels after being with another man niggles, but it doesn’t assault him so acutely this time. He isn’t ready to shove on his trousers and get the fuck out of the room. He doesn’t want Nick to leave. He wants him to stay, wrapped warm and tight around Louis.

 _Shit_. Nick hasn’t come yet. Louis pulls back and glares at him, the gnawing sense of having done something wrong disappearing entirely.

“You haven’t even come.”

“Good of you to notice,” Nick says. He’s smiling though, so Louis doesn’t think he’s too pissed off. His hair is fucked up from Louis’s hands and it’s gone all soft and wilted. Louis likes it. He likes it a lot. 

“Well…” Louis trails off, not quite as at ease with the whole _what to do with a man’s body_ thing as Nick is. “Do you want me to do that to you too?”

Nick stretches out, cat-like and palms his cock with a couple of swift strokes. He tips his head and gives Louis another one of his broad smiles. “Do what you like, pet.”

Even though he’s only just come, Louis’s cock gives a feeble jump at the thought of getting his hands on Nick. Their last session ended with Nick tossing himself off and Louis is determined not to let that happen again. He doesn’t want Nick to think Louis is a total dick, even though he can be sometimes.

“What do you like?” Louis trails his fingers down Nick’s chest, toying with one of his necklaces. 

“Bratty popstars, apparently.” Nick gives Louis a wink. “Lots of stuff. I’m easy.”

“Bet you are.”

“Oi, none of that.” Nick laughs under his breath. He swallows, his throat bobbing. “You really want to know?”

“If I’m going to come round and see your dogs, I probably should.” That’s Louis for _if we’re going to do this again_ , which he definitely hopes they are.

“Yeah, maybe.” Nick’s smile softens, his eyes crinkling round the edges. It makes Louis’s heart thump in his chest. Nick’s fit. _Really_ fit. He’s fit with very good fingers and a smile that makes Louis’s heart too big for his chest. It’s stupid, how easy he is for Nick. Stupid, dangerous and yet hopeful, somehow. Nick reaches up and brushes Louis’s hair back from his forehead. “It’s been different with you.”

“Has it?” Louis hopes that isn’t because he’s a knob that hasn’t got Nick off properly yet. 

“Mmm.” Nick slides his fingers down to Louis’s backside and squeezes. “I’m not usually as into bums, but yours is pretty good.”

“I’ve got a penguin tattoo on my arse.” Louis pulls a face. “My bum is stupid.”

“Nope.” Nick’s fingers press against Louis’s hole again, making him shiver. “It’s not stupid at all.” He looks thoughtful. “Ever been rimmed?”

Louis shakes his head, his breath getting shaky. “No. Don’t much like the idea of a tongue in my arse.”

“Feels good.” Nick shrugs. He’s so unbothered by all of it, it makes Louis envious. He wishes he could talk about that stuff with the ease Nick does. “In the shower, maybe. If you fancy?”

Louis nods. He does fancy. He’s half a mind to drag Nick off to the shower right now, but he also thinks it might be a bit much to make Nick do all the work (again). Nick gives his dick another stroke, letting out a low _mmm_ of approval.

Louis licks his lips and moves down Nick’s body, nudging his hand away. “Do you like blow jobs?”

“No.” Nick pulls a face. “Bleugh. They’re rubbish.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky you can find anyone to blow you at all.”

“Very,” Nick agrees, cheerfully. “Is that what you’re planning to do, then?”

“Might be.” Louis hasn’t quite decided yet. He’s sucked people off before but it’s usually been quite hurried, messy and without much finesse. He’s not exactly an expert and Nick’s got a pretty intimidating cock, now Louis has had a chance to see it up close. He rubs his jaw, eyeing it warily.

“Something the matter?” Nick sounds amused.

“Of course you’d have an obnoxiously large knob.” Louis wraps his hand around the base, enjoying the way Nick bucks into his fist with a hiss. The tip of his cock is leaking pre-come and he must be right on the edge. To be fair, Louis has been making him wait a while. “Typical.”

“Tell you what I like, love.” Nick hisses again when Louis twists his hand on the upward stroke. “Less talking. A popstar with his mouth full. A―”

Before Nick can finish his grumbling, Louis wets his lips and slides carefully over Nick’s dick. He’s already anticipating the inevitable jaw ache but it feels so good, being stretched like this. It’s been ages since he’s blown anyone and he had forgotten how much he likes the weight of it on his tongue, the thrust of someone else in his mouth. Nick keeps his hands in Louis’s hair, guiding him and _fuck_ that’s even better. Louis rubs himself against the sheets, groaning around Nick’s cock. It seems to please Nick that Louis’s getting off―even if Louis pretty much hasn’t stopped getting off since he first bumped into Nick―because he pushes up into Louis’s mouth and tightens his hands. There’s something about the way Nick is with him that makes Louis hot all over. The push and pull, the firmness without being overly rough. The way he makes Louis feel like it’s not something to be afraid of. Desire pulses through Louis and he wants to please Nick. He takes his time learning Nick’s responses and he doesn’t even care that he’s dribbling on Nick’s dick, or that his jaw is really fucking sore, because it’s messy and brilliant. 

“Louis… _fuck_.” Nick comes with a bitten-off grunt and tugs on Louis’s hair too late. Louis doesn’t care. He sucks Nick until he’s finished, and slides off him feeling rather smug. Nick looks pink-cheeked and shagged out, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he watches Louis.

“Come on, then.” Nick’s voice is rough, as if he’s the one that’s just had his throat fucked by a stupidly over-sized cock. “Come and give us a kiss.”

Louis complies, moving up the bed with embarrassing eagerness and plastering himself against Nick. His cock thickens as Nick slides his tongue into Louis’s mouth and kisses him with a low groan of pleasure. Louis wonders if Nick finds it hot, tasting himself in Louis’s mouth. Louis definitely finds it hot, if the way his body responds is any indication.

“Ready to go again, love?” Nick sounds surprised but pleased with himself, breaking away from the kiss and sliding his hand to Louis’s cock. 

“Maybe.” Louis’s cheeks get hot and he rolls off Nick. “Doesn’t matter.” He hates being desperate for it, even though he is. He doesn’t think he can get enough of Nick touching him. He wants to do things he’s never been remotely interested in before.

“Matters to me.” Nick kisses Louis soundly and before Louis knows it, they’re a tangle of limbs and the kiss gets hard, hot and heavy. Nick gets them in a brilliant position, his hands squeezing Louis’s backside. 

“Nick…” Louis wants to protest that he can’t go again. His cock is just on the cusp of oversensitive, his limbs loose as Nick kisses him. He’s boneless and sated and positive no matter how much need crawls through his body, he’s not going to be able to come again. He can’t, but he wants to. It’s like that release he’s been searching for ever since he started sniping at Nick on the beach is so close to being totally satisfied. It’s becoming easier with every minute, losing himself in the heat of Nick’s arms.

“Yes, babe?” Nick sucks lightly at a spot on Louis’s neck, his lips and teeth making Louis fully hard.

“Not…” Louis grits out, bumping his cock against Nick’s stomach. “Not your _babe_.” Part of him likes it (his cock, mostly) but he refuses to let Nick think he can get away with calling Louis every ridiculous nickname under the sun. He’s seen how Nick talks to his dogs on Instagram, all _smushy-smushy_ and ridiculous as they paw at him, their tails almost wagging right off. Louis can relate. “You’re stupid,” Louis says, without any heat.

“Thank you.” Nick grins against Louis’s mouth and slides his hand between them, palming over Louis’s cock. “And you’re hard again.”

Louis bristles at the _again_ and digs his fingers into Nick’s shoulders. “Don’t make a thing of it.”

“I’m not.” Nick wraps his enormous hand around Louis in an almost painful moment of friction. Louis hisses and pushes into Nick’s fist, squeezing his eyes shut with a muttered curse. 

“My knob’s going to fall off if you keep doing that,” Louis mutters. Despite his words he groans when Nick releases him, rutting up for more contact. “ _Unf_ ,” he offers, eloquently.

“Don’t want to hurt you, darling.” Nick gets his hands under Louis’s bum and arranges them so Louis can grind against Nick all he likes. It’s embarrassing, rubbing one off against Nick like he’s a bloody lamp post or something, but Louis’s body doesn’t seem to have got the _don’t rut against Nick Grimshaw_ memo. 

“You’re not hurting me,” Louis assures Nick, his voice annoyingly breathy. He feels like he should say it, because Nick looks half amused, half concerned with just the faintest hint of smugness about him. His quiff has wilted completely and his hair is soft, stuck to his forehead as he looks down at Louis with a confused smile. Louis wonders if Nick feels it too. The weird, unexpected bolt of desire and the creeping suspicion that this is already more than a roll around on the beach with another lad, and a way of holding back the inevitable morning hangover.

Louis decides to stop overthinking, because he really does want to get off again and he believes in finishing things he starts. He closes his eyes and sinks into the sensation and movement of Nick’s body holding him in place, grinding into him, pinning him down. He likes being held down by Nick. He thinks he’s going to want to explore that again, if he plucks up his courage to tell Nick what he wants to try when they’re back home. It doesn’t seem as scary as it once did, the idea of asking for what he wants. He’s spent so long trying not to let people know what he needs, so long being scared of it himself. Somehow on this tiny island in the biggest fucking room Louis could find, it seems like it might be okay to let go. If it gets weird in London, well. Louis will just drink a lot of Stella and then blurt it all out in a moment of lager-fuelled boldness.

“God, you feel good.” Nick sounds unsteady enough himself, his hands deliciously firm on Louis’s bum. He rummages around with the packets on the bed and bites back a curse as he searches blindly for something. Eventually he returns his full focus to Louis, sliding a slick finger through the crease of his arse. He doesn’t push in, but the combination of him rubbing over Louis and the friction of Nick’s body against Louis’s cock is enough. 

Louis almost whines against Nick’s lips as he shudders into another orgasm, and they collapse into a messy pile of limbs, holding one another, sticky and sated. Louis finally thinks he’s exhausted all possible orgasms at least for a few hours. Probably.

They stretch out together on the sweat-warm sheets and share a bottle of beer as they chat about Malta, the festival, people they both know. It’s so much easier being with Nick than Louis ever expected. He’s always thought those films where people spend hours walking around strange cities going on about their lives were a load of rubbish. He likes the stuff with fast cars and loud noises, prefers watching people being active to sitting around and watching people be still. He gets antsy when there’s too much contemplative conversation, and he can’t see the appeal of sitting in neon-bright cafes at three in the morning without a beer, the thrum of loud music and a tray full of shots.

For the first time Louis thinks he gets it. He can be still with Nick. He always has to keep running, his thoughts churning around in his head over and over until even sleep evades him. He does a lot of walking around his big, empty house in America and he always feels so inconsequential―so small―when he looks out over the city skyline. Even though he’s in another enormous room and a place he doesn’t even know, everything is just right. He doesn’t want to run. He’s not counting down the seconds until the morning. He wants to stretch the night out for as long as it can go, desperately worried that the unexpected, fragile bond between them will flicker and break as the sun comes up.

Even as his eyes get heavy with sleep, Louis wants to keep the conversation going. He curls up against Nick not caring that they’re both disgusting and need a shower. He isn’t bothered. He likes the way Nick’s skin smells of Louis now. He likes the fact there are light marks that Louis sucking, biting and kissing at Nick’s skin left behind. 

“Don’t feel ashamed of it with you,” Louis says, unexpected but sincere, his voice slurring with tiredness. He’s not even sure he’s speaking out loud because Nick doesn’t respond. He just strokes his fingers through Louis’s hair and pulls him closer as sleep finally comes and lulls Louis into dreams of a small boat bobbing in the middle of the endless ocean.

  
_~  
_~ )_)_~  
)_))_))_)  
_!__!__!_  
\\______t/  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


Nick wakes in the morning with Louis sprawled half on top of him. He looks like he’s drooled on his pillow and he’s snoring. Nick shouldn’t be as into any of that as he is, but he likes it, and he likes Louis. He’s not even trying to fight it now.

The air still has a warm, hazy feel to it and a strange, giddy sensation settles in the center of Nick’s chest. _Steady, Grim_ , he thinks. _Steady_. He noses at Louis's hair, where it clings to the base of his neck. He’s salty, sticky and his hot skin is furnace-like. Nick tightens his hold on Louis and wonders if Louis is the sort to appreciate waking up with a hand on his dick. He slides his fingers over Louis's warm belly to test the theory and Louis mumbles something that sounds like _fuck off_ under his breath. Nick retracts his hand, settling for thumbing over Louis's belly and not slipping any lower. For now.

“What fucking time is it?” Louis sounds cross and sleepy, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Too fucking early, mate,” he says, before Nick can reply.

“It’s morning.” Nick makes every effort to sound wide-awake and cheerful, because he has a feeling that’s the kind of thing that might annoy Louis intensely.

“I worked that much out for myself.” Louis rolls onto his back, blinking blearily at Nick. “Dickhead.”

The sun’s rays filter through the cracks in the window and Nick takes another attempt at sneaking his hand lower, now Louis is definitely awake and the whole thing is a bit less creepy. “Sun’s coming up,” Nick says. There might be a double entendre in there and he’s quite proud of that, if he’s honest.

“Yeah.” Louis's voice is a strange mix of husky and squeaky, his hips lifting to push towards Nick’s hand. “God, _Nick_.”

“Mmhmm,” Nick replies. He wraps his fingers around Louis's cock. “That good?”

“Tell you what’s good,” Louis says. “Sleep. That’s bloody good.” He doesn’t sound so sure, his voice jagged and breathless. It reminds Nick of the night before and he presses his lips to the stubbled line of Louis's jaw, breathing him in. He squeezes his hand around Louis, enjoying the grumble of pleasure that leaves Louis's lips.

“Got any plans for today?” Nick says, casually, like it doesn’t matter one way or another.

“Might have.” Louis pushes into Nick’s hand again, his breath leaving him in a hiss. He stretches his arms over his head and Nick takes the opportunity to nose over Louis's tattoo. _It Is What it Is_ in cursive script, bold and etched on his collarbone. Nick’s quite proud of the fact he’s rubbed his come all over that tattoo. He’s dead romantic, Nick is.

Nick keeps his hand sliding over Louis and bites back a groan when Louis wraps his fingers around Nick. They’re not in a desperate, heady race to the end. Every movement is slow and steady, their kisses lazy and sleep-stale as they bring one another off to a languid climax. It’s hot, sticky and everything smells of sweat, sex and last night’s cigarettes. 

“You stink,” Nick says, charmer that he is.

“We stink,” Louis amends. He prods Nick in the side. “Get in the shower, you can wash my hair.”

“Lucky me.” Nick aims for sarcastic and ends up with what he can only assume is a daft grin on his face. 

They make their way into the shower and Nick takes the opportunity to insist Louis needs to be cleaned _everywhere_ , annoyed with himself for instigating a morning wank when there could have been shower rimming and blow jobs on the table. _Another time_ , he thinks, hopefully. _Another time_.

“Get out of here and let me piss in peace.” Louis shoves Nick out of the shower when they’re both thoroughly scrubbed, and Nick grabs a towel to wrap around his waist.

Nick towels his hair dry and calls a hungover Pixie to bring some swimming trunks and a shirt to Louis’s room, because Louis apparently came away planning for arctic conditions and an Adidas convention. It’s testament to the fact that he’s becoming so suddenly engrossed by Louis that he hasn’t looked at social media in ages. After hanging up on Pixie before she can take the piss out of him any more, Nick thumbs through his updates and logs on to Twitter. He frowns when he notices his mentions have been blowing up.

**@grimmers @louis91 is Tomlinshaw real??**

“Fuck. _Fuck_.” Nick looks up and meets Louis’s eyes. He’s just opened the bathroom door, and he has his phone in his hand, his eyes wild. 

“Management’s been on,” Louis says. He sounds small and scared. “I think―” he swallows, his throat bobbing, “―someone got a picture.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Nick frantically tries to find the evidence, because everything they did was under cover. There’s nothing that can’t be turned into _just friends_. Eventually he finds a series of blurry photographs from Lost and Found, and his racing heart slows just a little. He and Louis are closer than usual considering they don’t spend time together, ever, but the pictures are innocuous. “Pictures are from the festival.” Nick hands his phone to Louis. “It’s fine, love. Nothing that can’t be explained away.”

“Right. Yeah, ‘course.” Louis stares at the photographs then looks at Nick. “What if.” Louis taps his finger against the side of the phone, nervous, agitated. He pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth. “What if I don’t want to explain it away?” There’s a note of defiance in his tone when he looks up .

Nick swallows, trying to find the right words. He wants to see Louis again, wants it so much he thinks he might burst with it, but being loud and proud about who he’s seeing is not the way he does things, and Louis’s never been out full stop. Every single relationship he’s ever had has been conducted quietly. He’s never gone on record about any rumours, other than the ones he’s denied. Even when he fell out of clubs with Jonny, took Nicco to Glastonbury or fell half in love with Harry, he kept quiet. Move on, nothing to see here. No names. No gushing about finding your person, because that’s the sure fire way to lose someone. 

Famously not fond of commitment, that’s Nick. As soon as you get too settled, too comfortable with being in love, somebody ends up with a broken heart. They leave for a world tour with a _see you later, man_ and end up on a yacht with a supermodel. They go back to America. They move to Paris and put their new boys all over social media. Nick gets too claustrophobic and he jumps before they have the chance to push, because everyone leaves in the end. 

“I don’t talk to the press about stuff like that,” Nick says. His words taste rusty and unpleasant. “Never.”

Louis just stares at him, then scoffs, shaking his head as he looks away. “It’s not about you.” There’s a quiet fury in Louis’s words, a scathing edge that lets Nick know he’s royally fucked up. “Don’t worry, mate. I won’t make it about _us_.”

“Good,” Nick replies, as if on autopilot. He can’t seem to stop now he’s started, wincing at the expression on Louis’s face.

Louis narrows his eyes at Nick, his posture tense. “It’s not even anything, is it? _Us_. I’m so stupid, I should have known that was all lies to get a quick shag. Grindr doesn’t work in Malta, is that it?”

The words slice through Nick and he wonders if this is when he gives up on love for good and decides to become a rescue home for stray dogs. He keeps his voice steady, but bitchy because he’s good at pushing someone away if he needs to. He’s always been good at that.

“A holiday romance,” Nick says at last. “What happens in Malta stays in Malta.” His stomach rolls and he’s about three seconds away from throwing up the beers and shots from the night before. He’s an idiot. _What the fuck are you doing, you twat?_ He doesn’t even mean it, the words an insincere tumble, falling out of his mouth as easily as going back to a bad habit.

“Dick,” Louis mutters. He pulls his arms around himself, his jumper enormous on his slim frame. It’s like he’s trying to give himself a hug, or find some warmth because honestly, who the fuck wears jumpers when there’s blazing sun outside? It makes Nick feel like a shit.

“They didn’t give me a name that rhymes with it for nothing,” Nick says, because he really is a dick sometimes, particularly when it comes to Louis Tomlinson, apparently. He hopes it might lighten the mood, but it just sounds sad.

“Also rhymes with prick,” Louis mutters. He gives Nick one of those sharp, side-long looks and it’s almost like he can see right through him. “Do you have to be such a twat about everything?”

Nick flicks his tongue over his lips, his mouth dry. “I talk a lot on the radio. I say a lot of stuff I don’t mean. I’m used to filtering out what I really want to say, like that new Swiftie song makes my ears bleed, or the Chainsmokers are fucking terrible.”

Louis’s lips twitch. “You don’t filter much of that out, mate.”

“No?” Nick raises his eyebrows at Louis, heat spreading through him. “You listen?”

“When I’m bored, or cleaning the loo or summat.” Louis shrugs. As if he’s ever cleaned a loo in his life, Nick thinks, fondly. He gives Nick a shrewd look. “What are you filtering out now, then?”

In a swift movement, Nick relies on instinct, impulse and the image of Louis putting on Breakfast halfway across the world as he chain-smokes and looks at the L.A. skyline. Nick draws on the overwhelming fondness he feels now, and the warm ball of affection that took up residence in his chest from the first moment he saw Louis on the beach. He responds by closing the distance between them and taking Louis―lovely, cocky, brilliant Louis―in his arms. He holds him tightly and almost sags with relief when Louis winds his arms around Nick and hugs him back.

“Darling,” Nick says. “I’m a fucking disaster. Please don’t listen to anything I say, I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.” He pulls Louis close and keeps him tight against his body, breathing in the scent of the hotel shampoo in his hair. “I’m a twat,” he whispers, tightening his hold. _I’m terrified_ , he thinks, not ready yet to say as much out loud.

“Got that right,” Louis says. He holds onto Nick like a lifebelt, keeping him close. “I’m shit at it too, if that helps. Too scared to let you fuck me, aren’t I?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Nick holds Louis tighter. “I don’t care.”

“I do.” Louis swallows. “It felt normal. For the first time, it felt normal. It didn’t feel so scary.”

“It _is_ normal.” Nick presses a kiss to Louis’s damp hair. “I promise. I promise it is.”

Louis’s voice is muffled. “I didn’t want to drag you into it anyway. I just meant I don’t want to give a shit anymore. Who cares if I like dick sometimes, anyway?”

 _People_ , Nick thinks. Bad people care, and they’ll love giving you crap for it if you let them. But good people care too. People who need loud voices that can drown out the rest of the noise that makes some days so difficult. 

“More people care than should,” he says at last. “For good reasons, and for bad.”

“Could do summat with it, if people knew.” Louis lets out a shaky breath and pulls away. He sits gloomily on the edge of the bed, watching Nick. “There was someone, once. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t think I ever would be, so I pretended it wasn’t happening. Kept my distance.”

A strange taste fills Nick’s mouth, because he can almost see Harry’s smile and hear his bright, deep laugh in the room. He wondered. Little things that Harry said, sometimes. The way he doesn’t let himself get too close when things start to take a turn to something other than _friends_. Honestly, Nick isn’t sure Harry would have been ready back then either. 

“Is it done?” Nick asks. It’s the best way he can think of trying to ask Louis if he’s still in love with someone that isn’t Nick.

“Been done for years, mate. Never even started.” Louis rubs his forehead as if he’s getting a headache and he gives Nick a wry smile. “You?”

Nick swallows, and nods. “Same.” There’s a lightness in it. It feels more true than ever. He loves Harry, but it’s been a long time since he’s been _in love_ with Harry. It’s been a long time since he was in love with anyone, he’s not sure he’s ever found someone just right. 

“Don’t even know what I’d say if I mentioned you, anyway.” Louis looks at Nick. “Too new, innit?”

Nick shrugs. It’s impossibly new. Just a few stolen moments in the heat of summer, in a place that feels so far away from the grime and noise of London. Louis and their bubble of warmth seem closer than ever to slipping away from him like the tide pulling back out to sea, taking with it the footprints they left in the sand. 

“I’ve never spoken about anyone by name,” Nick says. “In the press, I mean. I’ve never done that. If I did, it would be new for me too. Different than coming out, but still. New.”

Louis gives Nick a curious look. “Why haven’t you?”

“Because it’s embarrassing, wanging on about how brilliant everything is when it ends up not being brilliant at all.” Nick pulls a face. “I don’t want to jinx it.”

Louis gives Nick a small, sharp smile. “Might be you talk about someone and end up being brilliant for always.”

Nick laughs, but the thought makes his chest tight and a strange emotion wells within him, leaving him choked. 

“The most brilliant, darling.” His voice cracks around the edges. “The very best.”

Louis stands and crowds into Nick’s space, kissing him with an unexpected force. He breaks off the kiss first, staring at Nick with flushed cheeks and a hunger in his eyes that surprises Nick. He doesn’t know when he last felt as wanted as he does with Louis, he can’t remember when he enjoyed someone else so much.

“Are we ending this before we go home?” Louis holds Nick’s gaze, waiting for an answer. “Because if we are you’d better tell me now,” he says, with sudden ferocity. “I don’t want you to ignore my texts like a knob when we get back.”

Nick touches his fingers to Louis’s cheek. “I’m not ending anything. I’m a right nuisance on WhatsApp.”

“I bet.” Louis relaxes a little in Nick’s arms. “Not the end,” he repeats, quietly.

“No,” Nick says. Even though things are ending this year and he’s going to have to bring that up at some point, he knows with certainty this isn’t one of them. Not if he has anything to say about it, at least. “Just getting started, love. Pig wants to meet you, doesn’t she?”

“‘Course she does.” Louis breathes out and the relief seems to flood through him, the tension in his shoulders finally ebbing away. “I just want to come out,” he says plainly, looking as if he’s surprised even himself with the honesty of it. “I want to stop being scared of it. To just...to just do it. ”

“Okay.” Nick nods, and he means it. “I’d never stop you doing that, you know. I’d be dead proud. If it was tomorrow, or in a year or whatever. I’d be dead proud.”

“Don’t be soft.” Louis rolls his eyes but he seems content, composed rather than putting his defenses back up. Nick’s proud he can tell the difference now. “I’ll keep you out of it.”

“Might not be that easy,” Nick says.

“Whatever. Fuck ‘em. Let them guess.” Louis shrugs, the gesture light. He looks as if he almost likes the idea of it. “We don’t want to give all our secrets away. Might be we want to sell pictures of us to _OK_ or one of them home and country magazines.”

Nick laughs, the thought nowhere near as terrifying or ridiculous as it should be. None of this is, really; there’s fear lurking under the surface still, he can feel it, a lingering panic about relationships and the knee-jerk urge to pull back, protect himself, but it’s ebbing away. He wants this more than he wants to self-preserve, or maybe he just feels like he won’t need to this time. They’ve both laid their cards out on the table this morning, brought out their most vulnerable bits, and the world didn’t end. It probably won’t end if Nick has a proper boyfriend, even if it might make Eileen faint from the shock of it. “I don’t think anyone’s going to want pictures of us sitting on the dog bed eating chicken nuggets in our undies, because Pig, Stinky and Clifford have taken up the sofa.”

“Stupid magazines don’t know a good photoshoot when they see one, then.” Louis’s face breaks into a sunny smile. It’s amazing how it brightens his whole expression. “I might want pictures of that.”

“Yeah,” Nick says. “Me too.” He kisses Louis, slow and soft. 

“I reckon.” Louis licks his lips, a nervous tic, but his face is still bright. “I just don’t want to hide, with this,” Louis says. His expression turns cocky. “I don’t want to be bothered if you’re desperate to hold my hand in public or something. Wouldn’t want to deprive you of my affections, Nicholas.”

“As if I’d want to hold your sweaty paws in public.” Nick feigns a look of horror. “I have standards, Tomlinson. I don’t want people to think I’m easy for any old multi-millionaire popstar with a brilliant bum.”

Louis rolls his eyes but he looks pleased with himself. He waves his phone in Nick’s direction. “Going to make some calls.”

“You do that.” Nick watches Louis disappear into another room―honestly this penthouse is _massive_ ―and he makes his way onto the balcony after grabbing himself a wine from the mini bar and adding lots of ice. It’s still his holidays after all, and it’s past noon. Lunchtime drinking is perfectly acceptable. 

He sips his wine and looks up at the sky, where wispy clouds break up the swatches of brilliant blue. He tips his head back to feel the sun on his face and basks in the heat of it. 

The holiday’s almost over, this is his last year doing Breakfast and Nick isn’t sure he’s ready for things to come to an end. He doesn’t like it when parties finish, or when he has to say goodbye to the people he doesn’t want to leave. One thing he knows for certain is that whatever this tentative thing is with Louis, he doesn’t want that to end either. He doesn’t want the sun to set on the trip to Malta and for Louis to disappear on a plane that isn’t headed for London. If Louis’s going to be bold, Nick can be bold too. He’s not going to let him go off looking for someone else to dance with if Louis fancies doing all those things he wanted when Annie played Nick’s favourite songs.

He stretches out on the sunlounger and closes his eyes, soaking up the last of the Malta sun. The summer in London is muggy, people fainting on the tube and Pig looking balefully at him as she tries to find a small bit of shade. It’s going to be a year of change, and Nick’s not sure how he feels about any of it. He pushes his fears about everything being different to one side and concentrates on the new and unexpected happiness that expands in his chest. It feels good. Full of eager possibility. 

Nick wonders if getting off with Louis on a yacht means everything’s going to be smooth sailing when they get back to London. Pleased with himself for such a terrible joke he snickers, making a note to tell Louis later. He has another gulp of his wine and lights a cigarette.

 _It’s going to be okay_ , Nick thinks. _It’s all going to be okay_.

The waves crash in the background, the first _thump-a-thump_ of a new day of music begins and the air is hopeful and bright with the promise of a new summer.


End file.
